In The Midnight Hour
by Nascha14
Summary: Misao's getting married, but not to who you would expect. Can the owner of a face not seen in Kyoto for years save her from disaster? Some Angst, mild mystery as to this guy Haru, but fun for the AoshiMisao lover in all of us. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: Aoshi Shinomori is Dead

Disclaimer: I don't own Kenshin, or anything to do with him, though I wish I did :P

Author's Note: WHERE HAVE I BEEN? Getting my degree, finishing an entire REAL novel of my ownsies (and starting the query process for that), going to Australia for three months AND dealing with a whole slew of family drama. I have excuses! I really do!

No worries now, fearless readers and long-time followers of this story, I have returned. To make it all better, I have revamped the entire story: omitted excessive adverbs, tweaked little grammar flubs, fixed continuity and simple setting errors (at some point, Okina met people for lunch at Akabeko while in Kyoto– he totally IS a ninja!), AND nixed Chapter 15 to start from scratch because I realized that I know NOTHING about Japanese theatre in the 19th century and have no desire to research it. I also plan on working on new chapters now that I am satisfied with the integrity of the old. This story WILL be finished.

So, sit back, read, review and MOST OF ALL: enjoy! There is more to come 3

**Chapter One**

"**Aoshi Shinomori is dead."**

Misao groaned softly as she pulled the kimono down from the line. She held it close to her chest, trying to shield it from the lashing rain. Omasu was going to have her head over this! Weeks had been spent on this one garment; stitching, embroidering, and even sewing on pearls. It would probably be more beautiful than _her _on her wedding day. Okina had said so himself, laughing.

"Misao-chan, what will they say about this? They will not remember you or Haru-dono! Omasu should be ashamed of herself, no?"

Omasu had stood to the side, blushing at his indirect compliment.

"It is beautiful." Misao was speechless "I can't – oh Omasu!"

Embracing her, her dear friend had whispered gently against her ear "The other three are nearly finished. The ceremony, and you, will be perfect."

But even now, struggling into the house with the kimono tucked tight against her, she found it hard to believe those words. Yes, they were having the best food sent in from Tokyo for the reception. Yes, all four of her wedding kimono - one gold, one silver, one red, one snow white - were being handmade by Omasu and of the finest silk. And yes, Haru was a handsome man, strong and with a good head on his shoulders.

There was only one person, however, who would have made things perfect. But the pain of thinking of him made her push away his memory.

A second time, in the dark of night, Aoshi Shinomori had slipped out into the gloomy Kyoto streets. He had left without saying good-bye. It was three years after their adventures with Kenshin. She was nineteen, expecting a proposal any day. A smile even! After all, she had been working on him all those three years, and in her exuberance, hope had blossomed. But what a child she still had been, to believe that Aoshi could have feelings.

That ill-fated morning lived in her mind, as if it were yesterday. Golden sunlight had spilled through the paper screens. The air had been warm and thick with the spicy scent of smoke. When she woke, she found that a red rose had been placed on her pillow as she slept.

Aoshi Shinomori was gone.

A slow-simmering sort of anger was kindled within her after that morning. Okina and the others had noticed the change; seen it in her eyes. The Misao everyone knew and loved was gone. No, she would not search for him this time. Not even for a smile! Aoshi obviously had no time for her, so she would not waste hers waiting on him. Five years had past since that morning. Haru had proposed to her a year ago on her 23rd birthday, and she had accepted

"Oh! What happened here?" Omasu pulled her from her thoughts.

"It started to rain. You said to leave it out to catch the scent of the cherry blossoms, but I did not think such a storm would come!" Sliding the door shut, she let the dull light of the kitchen welcome her.

"It will be fine." Omasu did not sound convinced as she took the damp fabric and hung it gently from hooks on the wall, but the air inside was warm and it would dry quickly.

In the kitchen, a large pot bubbled on the wood stove. Frothy foam grew and oozed over the edges. Alongside it in a small pan, fish were cooking in their own oil. Steam rose up and left a dark wet smudge on the ceiling. The smell was heavenly, and tinged with the soft aroma of cherry blossoms. Now wafting into the room was the fresh perfume of rain. The gentle hiss of the large drops on the roof left a dreamy quality in the air. The effect of it all hit Misao hard. She wanted only to sit in the corner and go to sleep.

"Are you making some sort of sauce for the fish?" she asked, drowsy words slipping off her tongue.

Omasu moved to stir the boiling contents of the pot, her brow creased "Why ruin good fish?"

"I just thought…"

"Thought what? Come now Misao, we're past childish dances around the subject. If you don't like my cooking, just tell me."

"It's not that! I thought – oh – just nothing. My mind was wandering again, back to the wedding."

"Oh! You're not worried about _that_, are you honestly? I told you, everything is going to be perfect."

"But, it's not going to be perfect." Something deep inside her dug its claws into her heart. She bit her lip but tears came nonetheless, surprising her and Omasu just the same.

"What's this Misao!" Omasu set the spoon down and moved across the room as the younger girl fell to her knees.

"It can't be perfect! Nothing is ever going to be perfect."

"I thought you loved Haru!" A hand fell on Misao's shoulder, she pushed it away.

"I do! It's only that…" she looked up at her friend fiercely, angrily as she lost the words she sought to say.

Omasu was not a stupid woman. Realization crept across her features and she sighed "You love someone else more."

Silence blanketed the room. The ticking of a nearby clock counted out the beats of the women's hearts. Out in the evening light, a dog howled.

"Listen Misao, I don't know another way to say this to you, so I'll just say it the simplest way there is: Aoshi Shinomori is dead."

Misao breathed in so fast that it hurt.

"He's been gone five years now. He loved you, whether or not you'll admit it, and I know that only death would keep him from coming back to you."

The air was thick. It filled Misao's lungs like water.

"I know he was gone as long before, but then you were a child to him, a daughter. A man can leave a daughter for years if he knows she is well cared for, especially a man like Aoshi-san. He understood that you would be well loved here. But when you came back into his life, you were something different. You were nearly a woman, and by the time he left again, you were one completely. His love was different then. Don't look at me so, I know because he told me."

Misao wiped her nose "He what?"

"He said he loved you Misao, and said it with all his heart. I would not lie to you. He spoke of his love like he had never felt the emotion before. I know for a fact, that a man who feels that sort of love could not be gone for so long. Only hell itself could keep him away from you."

A deep pain was growing in her chest. If Omasu was trying to help, she was not. "So you think he is dead then."

"I'm sorry Misao."

The finality in Omasu's voice sent numbness spiraling through her limbs. She wanted to be alone. Her voice came out as a whisper "Go."

Omasu looked hurt, but she nodded. Misao had never loved her more than she did in that moment. "You will finish the cooking then?"

"Yes."

Omasu departed, sandals making a soft swishing noise. Misao buried her face in her arms and waited for the soft click of the sliding door.

Dead. Such a horrible word! It was a word that brought even emperors to their knees. The sound of it, the meaning of it: no one should ever have to hear it. All this time she had known it was true. She had felt it, and encouraged the feeling within her, but was afraid to give up completely.

Even so! It might not be true! There was no body. No one had seen him; that was all. He might very well be wandering, as Himura had. There were a thousand possibilities.

No. She had to let go. The wedding was in less than a month, and it would not bode well to be tied to the past. She was _betrothed._ On this day, of all days, she knew not why she was plagued by his image, his face dancing behind her eyes.

Water from the rice pot finally overflowed, and the stove hissed. It had been left unattended too long. She drew herself to her feet. What was becoming of her? Months had passed without a single memory of Aoshi. Without a single dream. Perhaps now was the final time for closure. She tried to open her heart to it.

Minutes ran by, and the meager dinner began to come together. It was not until she was beginning to dress the plates up that she spied something on her wedding kimono that repulsed her, and yet drew her in for a closer look.

Waving its spindly legs, a large spider wove a web on the surface of one of the sleeves. It was pale brown and nearly a finger length long. Much as it made her want to look away, she was fascinated by its thread, so much like the silk that the cloth was woven from. Twitching a single leg, the creature danced between two large pearls, and then came to a rest as it noticed her.

Shuddering, she turned away. This spider was so much like Aoshi. He crept and crawled about her brain, tangling it in a sticky net. Damn him! She would certainly go insane if she thought about this much longer.

Ignoring the spider, she finished making the plates and carried them in to the table. What remained of her family at the Aoiya was waiting. Later, she would send Okina in to deal with the little fiend.


	2. Chapter 2: From Within the Shadows

**Chapter Two**

**From Within the Shadows**

Aoshi Shinomori came into port at Kyoto one chilly April evening as rain poured down into the turbulent sea. Five years had passed since he had last seen the city, and four since the rocky shores of Japan had fallen under his gaze. Unshaven, tired, and hungry, a soothing cup of tea sounded better than anything else in the world. As he stepped off the causeway, he had to stand still for a moment. Six months aboard a ship, and his legs had forgotten how to handle the unmoving earth.

It was hard to see more than a few feet into the hazy dark. Lights glimmered in shop windows, but were blurred by a gray curtain of fierce rain. Looking down, everything below the knees disappeared into a layer of curling mist. This was certainly not the same as the night he had left. Everything had been still, crickets chirping in the deep grass. His path had taken him through the forest. The trees had spread their bows before him and enveloped him in a sweet embrace, as though they had missed him.

He remembered why he had gone. It had been near midnight, there was a messenger at the door with word from an old friend. The letter had been hastily written, smeared with blood and black dirt. The situation wasn't clear, but Aoshi's help was needed. If he didn't leave right away, he would never see his old comrade again, except perhaps in the man's own funeral procession. Begging the sleeping Misao for forgiveness, he had gone into the garden and plucked a single rose. The thorns had bit him as if they were doing so for Misao, who wouldn't have the chance.

He had left it on her blanket, and went out, taking just his two kodachis for company.

Only one of those kodachis remained. For a year they had sliced their way through enemies in Tokyo. No one, except Battousai, had ever learned it was his swords doing so much damage. Aoshi was of the shadows and they had not forgotten him. They still hid him as he commanded.

But things had gone wrong. His friend was kidnapped, and distant lands called him to his duty. Oh the things he had seen! If only he could place his hands over Misao's eyes and show her! There were the deep mangrove forests in India, the horses swift as the wind in Arabia, the pyramids with their bellies torn open and belching gifts for the archaeologists, and the rustic stone castles of Europe. He had gone to Russia too, and seen St. Petersburg at its finest. All these wonders were his to keep, but they seemed to have been for nothing. His friend had died at the hands of his enemies just the same. To make things even worse, one of his dear swords was still somewhere in Spain. Presumably, it was in the hands of that tricky Shepard boy he had come across.

But now Aoshi was home. Running one hand past his rough chin, he hid his sword beneath his coat and made for a nearby shop. The sign, lit by a single lamp, advertised the best tea Japan could offer. Though he doubted they could live up to it, he only wanted something to warm his aching throat. Perhaps a sweet lay in the future as well. Yes, that would be nice.

Stopping at the door, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rain-streaked window glass. It shocked him, and he stood with one hand resting on the cold handle. It was the reflection of a man that he did not know. He had always been pale, but not sallow; lean but not gaunt. The last five years had painted dark smudges beneath his eyes. His clothes hung loosely upon his frame. The man in the window was more a vagabond than a warrior.

In vain, he tried to make himself look presentable. He clicked his tongue and then stepped inside.

A small chime sounded, and there came the clacking of hurried footsteps. A moment later a young girl appeared. Her face was round with large almond eyes of a soft blue. Two rosebud lips were pressed firmly together in a smile that was halfhearted. _She's a bit younger than Misao would be now_, he mused.

"Sir! It must be cold out tonight. A cup of tea sounds delightful, yes?"

He nodded.

She appeared disconcerted by the fact that he had not spoken, but smiled and started towards the back of the shop. "Right this way then Sir!"

There was something wrong about the way she was walking. He noticed it immediately. She was hanging back a little, dragging her feet. Her shoulders were hunched, and her eyes were to the floor. Her apron was askew.

"Is everything alright?" His own voice surprised him.

The girl tensed then replied "Oh yes, of course." She ended with a nervous laugh.

They were nearing one of the back booths. It seemed that he was the only one there, other than a small group in the farthest corner. A single candle lit their silhouettes against the golden paper screen. Voices raised, at least two of the three were drunk. The smell of sake was thick on the air.

"Sir?"

Aoshi found that he had come to a halt in the middle of the tea shop, one hand on his kodachi's hilt.

"Sir, can I ask you a favor?" The girl was suddenly beside him, watching the back booth with moon-wide eyes.

"Yes?"

"You see those men? They haven't caused any trouble yet, but could you stay until they leave? I know! It's a strange thing to ask, but they've been here quite a while and they should be gone soon."

The girl's voice hadn't risen above a whisper, but the three men in the back had grown louder. Aoshi looked from the girl and back to the table before nodding. "Of course."

_Thank you! _She mouthed, before leading him to the table. "Tea?"

"And something sweet."

"No problem!"

The girl was out of sight as soon as he had seated himself. He set his weapon aside but within reach. It had not been so strange to be asked for something of the sort. Despite the fact that carrying a sword was still illegal, if people were in some sort of bind they would flock to anyone who was capable of causing great harm to a slime ball. Amused, he sat back to wait for his drink and listen to whatever the thugs on the other side of the table decided to talk about.

It turned out to be worth his while. The men had lowered their voices by the time he started to listen, but with just the right amount of straining, he could catch their whispered words. There was something foul about these men. They told hushed secrets as though even the gods should not hear what they spoke. It was nothing of good, that was for certain.

"But of course, you know this is dangerous."

"Of course he knows! I do have to admit though, all that money? It's enough to make anyone talk crazy for want of it."

The first two he heard speak uttered their words with the typical manner of henchmen. Their voices were soft and sly; they revealed that their owners looked at trickery as a way of life. Aoshi stashed them in the back of his mind, along with the hundreds of others he had met that hid behind more important men. Hoji, Shishio's man from all those years before, had possessed a voice like theirs. Unlike him, however, these two sounded as though they could stab even their superior in the back.

"You worry far too much boys." The final thug to speak had a silky and yet throaty timbre to his voice. Aoshi sat forward, intrigued. "I have everything covered."

"But that warehouse is well guarded, and it will be doubly so on the night the shipment comes through. They're not going to leave all that gold, and all those jewels without a babysitter."

"Surely not, especially since it's not going to be just gold and jewels."

"What d'ya mean boss? Silver too? A shipment of opium?"

"Better."

"What could be better than that? A shipment of opium alone could bring in enough cash to set us up for life."

"What about a princess?"

"What about one?"

The leader chuckled, and it was a chuckle to send shivers up the spine. The light seemed to grow dim "There will be a foreign princess among the goods to be placed aboard the ship."

"Who cares about some dumb broad? A ransom wouldn't be worth the trouble."

"Not a ransom! You idiot, it's not a real woman!" The second henchman spoke. There was understanding in his tone "Are you sure boss? Are you sure that'll be there?"

"I am deathly certain."

"Come on! What are you two talking about?"

"Have you paid attention to anything in your entire life?"

Silence.

"I thought not. Now listen closely." The boards in the next booth creaked as three men leaned in close over the table. The third mans voice dropped so low it seemed a hiss. It slithered down into Aoshi's ears and to his stomach. It nearly made him shudder. "I have made the arrangements to have all the guards briefly indisposed. Getting in will be easy; getting out will only be slightly more difficult."

"What about this princess?"

"We will not speak of that anymore here"

"S-sorry." The first man mumbled and fell silent.

"Anyway, Our man Haru has been paid well to call his men away on urgent business at the right time." The men must have looked confused because the leader sighed, exasperated "Haru the police officer, Haru?"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Okay. Yeah."

Aoshi could see the leader rolling his eyes "Haru will call his men away. This will leave you and your men half an hour to get the loot out. It's a lot, so you'll have to be fast. There's – "

The man fell silent, and Aoshi peered out in time to see the girl walking towards him with his tea. As if he could enjoy it now. This conversation was unsettling. He would not intervene. He didn't want to. There was no need to cause a scene in this poor girls shop. It would not be wise to confront them in the streets either. Much as he hated to admit it, he was not in the condition to do so. Two days with no sleep, one without food; lamentably, he was not immortal.

"Here's your tea." The girl arrived as these things raced through his mind. She was nervous, and he took the cup from her to keep her from spilling it.

"Don't worry about anything to eat. I'll be leaving soon." He muttered. He could hear the men shifting and packing up. Apparently they were tired of trying to talk with her hovering. He decided then, that he would not engage them, but he could still follow them.

"Oh, I –"

He started to slide money from in his pocket. The men's shadows grew long as they stood.

"Sirs!" her voice changed "I trust everything – oh!"

The first man out of the booth shoved her aside. She stumbled and caught herself on the frame of the paper barrier.

"Come on. Let's get out of here," He growled. He glared at Aoshi, daring him to get up and say something. Aoshi did not take the bait.

The girl continued looking to the floor as the rest passed. They snickered and laughed, dragging the nauseating stench of alcohol laced with tea leaves behind them. It seemed a long time until the door opened and shut. A cool breeze blasted through at the last moment, and cleared things but a little. It was enough.

"I will pay for them." Aoshi watched the girl as tears gathered in her eyes. "And thank you again for my drink."

She nodded once "They just got…oh no! That's far too much!" she seemed startled at the amount he pulled from within his coat.

"It is just enough." He said softly, pressing her hand onto the table as she tried to push it back towards him.

"O-oh!"

"You have a good night. I would lock up." Standing, Aoshi strode across the shop and went out the door into the damp darkness.

He lingered in the shadows, which enveloped him as one does a lover, until he heard the lock in the door click. The men, noisy as they had been when he first entered the shop, were easy to find. Until dawns light first pierced the eastern horizon he slipped through alley-ways, keeping them just within sight. But as morning came they each separated and went different ways. Blown by fate, Aoshi Shinomori found himself standing before the Shirabeko looking every bit a tramp.

As luck would have, Misao and a few friends were just entering for an early breakfast.


	3. Chapter 3: Lobsters, Clams, and a Ghost

Chapter Three

Lobsters, Clams, and a Ghost

As Misao and her friends entered the Shirabeko, the sun was just spilling over the eastern horizon and spreading its delicate gold fingers through the streets. The rain clouds of the night before had been swept away to the west and remained hanging there, brooding. Even they could not dampen Misao's spirits however. A good night of sleep and a cool bath that morning had washed away all of her worries.

Sae didn't take long in seating them. She knew them well, and what they wanted. Misao, Omasu, Ochika, and Emiko had made it a sort of ritual to go and get something to eat together at least once a fortnight. With the wedding approaching though, they had been rousing themselves early more and more. What had been a slow forming tradition had become a necessity; none of them felt right without that hour of companionship each dawn.

As they waited for their food, things turned to the wedding. It was only three weeks away after all. Omasu only had the red kimono to finish. She had devoted the most time to it, and it was highly anticipated. Upon being questioned however, she blushed and look to the floor; she wouldn't tell them any details. Emiko swiftly changed the subject. As Sae's cousin, she was in charge of all the dinner arrangements for the reception. She had already spoken to her connections in Tokyo. The topic of what dishes would be served turned out to be quite a controversial one.

"Of course, you have to serve shell fish. A clam: two shells. One for you and one for Haru, both working together. You do want to ensure unity, don't you?" Omasu spoke in a matter of fact tone and glared at Emiko.

Emiko rolled her eyes and retorted with a good deal of hostility "But certainly lobster would be better. Red is the luckiest color you know."

Ochika giggled "Yes Omasu, after all, you wouldn't be spending so much time on the last kimono if that weren't true."

Exasperated, she threw her hands into the air "Misao! Show these two some sense."

Misao grinned "Lobster is much more palatable I think."

Ochika and Emiko descended into giggles as Omasu growled "Oh for goodness sake!"

None of them wanted to admit that their usual gatherings might have to come to end. Misao especially didn't want to think of running her own household. She loved her leisurely mornings, sleeping until the sun had reached its path's apex. While she didn't mind forgoing the usual lazy hours for a meeting with friends, the thought of doing so to manage everything from breakfast to cleaning made her feel ill. She expressed this to the other three women, who all leaned in over the table to hear her better.

"Oh Misao, be serious now. He's a high ranking officer for the police. You think he won't get you some kind of hired help?" Emiko said, with brazen aplomb.

Ochika was horrified "But Emiko! Misao would never make another woman do her work."

"Certainly not." Omasu agreed, with an offended little head shake. "Besides, you can always come to us for help if you really need it."

"But what if he won't ever let you come back to Aoiya?" Ochika asked suddenly.

This brought a bought of silence with it.

"Let's not even think that." Omasu's voice had ice in it. "Our food is here now. Let's just eat. Ochika, I'm surprised you would even say such a thing! Haru would have to be a monster to do that, and I'm certain he's not."

….o….

As the four women were leaving the Shirabeko to go shopping, Omasu felt the light brush of a hand against her leg. From the corner of her eye she recognized a familiar face, even if its features were more somnolent and weary than they had been the last time she'd seen them. Excusing herself, she told Misao that she had to talk to Sae, and would catch up later. Misao's brow furrowed, but she nodded once and went away with the others. As soon as they were out the door, Omasu slid down next to Aoshi and slapped him across the face.

The palm print her hand left remained clear on his sickly cheek. His eyes were glittering with anger, but it was not from the blow.

"What is this talk of marriage?"

"Like you have any right to know. Bastard! Where have you been? You look awful."

Indeed, the night had stolen what little color his flesh had had left. He was trying very hard not to shake as she sat there. Never had exhaustion struck so hard.

"What is this talk of marriage." He repeated it more like a statement than a question.

"Misao's found herself a husband; one that won't run away in the night."

"His name?"

"Haru Namataga. Police Officers make much better lovers than ghosts I'm sure."

Aoshi did not answer this. Recognition was written on his face, but he did not betray his thoughts.

Despite her acid remarks, it was clear that Omasu's resolve to be bitter was wearing thin. Outside, a cloud ran past the sun. On the other side of one of the paper screens, a child began to cry. The sound of city-goers in the background remained a constant but dull roar. Merchants shouted the wonders of their wares to any one who would listen. The day was drifting by without them.

"We thought you were dead." Her voice shook against her will. Shock at meeting him here, after so many long seasons had passed, was finally setting in. "We wrote to Himura. We wrote to Koaru-san. Even Saito couldn't avoid us, try as he might. Every one of them answered the same: that they had not seen you. What were we to think?"

"Battousai was the only one who met me on my journey, and he would not have told you upon my request. I did not want Misao to follow."

Omasu did not reply. All the anger had been swept out of her. She felt hollow and short of breath. One half of her heart was full of joy, and the other felt as though it was breaking. The two halves warred with one another, neither side winning. She was left foggy headed and confused. Misao could not know right away; there was no telling how she would react. And besides, Aoshi needed sleep along with a good meal. It would not be good for either of them to meet with him in the condition he was in. If Misao decided to kill him, she would probably succeed. If she decided to embrace him, he probably wouldn't survive that either; crumbling into a thousand pieces at her touch like a sugar sculpture.

"You should go to the Aoiya. We will be out all day, and that will give you time to ready yourself," she thought out loud. "Okina should break this to her. She might strangle me if I try."

Aoshi very nearly smiled at this, but of course, managed not to, "She sounds much the same as when I left."

Omasu stood slowly, straightening her kimono as she did so. Aoshi began to get up himself. She offered him a hand, and he did not decline. As he shook his head to clear it, she laughed, breaking the tension that had been building over them for the last few moments. Aoshi relished in the sound as it fell down on them like the refreshing rain of the night before

"You have no idea, Aoshi" she chuckled, "you have no idea."


	4. Chapter 4: To The Void and Back Again

**Chapter Four**

**To The Void and Back Again**

In the early evening on that same day, Aoshi found himself dreaming.

Sleep welcomed him with its oblivious embrace. An endless ocean flowed over him, and he knew that it was the course of time. There passed his childhood, and his days as leader. Misao's face floated by. She was young and laughing as he tried to wring the rain from his clothes after she had locked him in the courtyard. Now Okina fighting him, Shishio's mad eyes, and sadness is his friend's faces as they bowed to the belief that Kaoru had passed from the earth.

Finally there arose Raku's face as the Russian slid the little gold knife beneath his ribs.

It was nearly enough to wake him. Gossamer curtains spread, admitting light, before a frigid wind slapped them closed again. A familiar feeling of sinking was all that was left. He was glad for it.

A hazy light grew at the edges of the emptiness. Silvery and glimmering, the luminescence itself was peppered with dew like tears. He reached out with one hand to feel the wetness, and found each drop cold and smooth as glass. They shattered soundlessly under his touch, filling the air with shimmering fragments.

But he was back in the courtyard with Okina. He watched his waking self as though peering into a shadow box. The sun was warm as it had been in real life, beating down on the red roses that still grew everywhere. The cherry tree in the corner was jostled by a sweetly scented breeze. It looked as though it was topped by a piece of pink cotton fluff. Even as the blossoms moved back and forth, it was silent.

"Misao made herself sick with worry you know." Okina's voice was deep, filled with an emotion he could not identify.

"So Omasu told me. She also said that Misao found a husband."

"Indeed, a handsome fellow. A bit of a tomfool, but nothing any worse than her. Locking doors so certain people will get caught in the rain and such." A small smile tugged at the corner of the old man's mouth. Aoshi saw frailty in that smile. He felt worry filling his heart.

"Perhaps that is not all he does."

Okina's brow furrowed "Haru wouldn't want hurt a fly, let alone be capable of it. You do know that's his name? I'm sure that Omasu told you."

"Yes." He decided not to push the matter any further. Okina obviously had enough on his mind. Three weeks. There was three weeks until the wedding. He could find the right words before then.

"Anyway, I see wherever you were did not treat you well. You look like a wraith! Missing Omasu's cooking, I suppose. Misao can cook very well now too of course. She had a good teacher. Perhaps she can make you dinner tonight. You need it." He saw the look passing over Aoshi's face "Don't you argue with me Aoshi Shinomori! You may have beaten me once, but this old man has had some practice recently!"

Okina made a move as if to hit his arm. There was an ominous creak and snap, followed by a chuckle.

"Hah! So maybe I'm a little out of shape, but I'm not senile!"

Aoshi had to try hard not to smile. "Come now Okina, she will not want to cook for me."

"Oh honestly, her anger fizzled out a while ago. She's lost _some_ of her spitfire, but I'm sure what's left won't be directed at you. She'll probably cry and make you something expensive."

"That is not the Misao I know."

Okina's eyes clouded with sadness "You have been gone a long time Aoshi."

"I don't deny it."

"You are still her dear, whether or not she intends to marry another. Those feelings may dull a little with time, but they will never disappear."

He started to speak, but let the thought die on his tongue.

"That's enough of your sulking, boy. Get up."

Aoshi let his eyes move to Okina, up from where they had been resting in the distance.

"I don't want that look either. To an old man like me, you're a boy. I've been around a lot longer than you have! Ha! Now go clean up and get some rest. You're going to need it."

The images faded to the blanket of fog from before. For a long while, things sunk into darkness. He was forgotten somewhere in the void and it felt good not to exist. There was nothing: no fear, no worry and no pain. It could not last, as nothing ever can. Before very long, the moon's gauzy brilliance poured over a familiar place.

"You look beautiful." There was a breathy feeling deep in his chest. He wrestled with it, managing only to just suppress it. Such a feeling was not deserved.

"Do you think so?" Misao's voice was scarcely above a whisper. She ate his words like stolen gifts, gobbling them up and stowing them away for another day. The umbrella she held rested gently against her shoulder. Fan-tailed peacocks strutted around it in blue, green, and black ink.

"I do." His voice nearly broke.

"Come now Misao-chan! You'll make us la – OUCH!" Ochika's voice echoed from somewhere in the darkness "Omasu! What was that fo – Oh."

Misao smiled a little, and he almost went to take her hand. That smile made him quiet inside. Nothing else seemed to matter. "I should be going."

"By all means. Don't let me keep you here."

She stood a moment, twisting one foot back and forth under her, glancing down at her heavily embroidered kimono as though trying to assess if he was telling the truth about her appearance. "Is there anything else?"

Aoshi thought he should choose his words with care, but instead blurted "Should there be?"

It was a mistake. He knew it, and the knowledge of it made him cringe. Something inside of his stomach shriveled. Misao was injured.

"I-I suppose not. We'll be home later, then. Good bye!" She lingered for a few seconds more before turning and stepping off the porch. Aoshi shifted and leaned against a bamboo post as she started away. One hand was clutching her umbrella as though for dear life, and the other was down at her side clenching and unclenching.

As she disappeared around the corner, he cursed softly.

Darkness was good. He liked it. Here everything was safe. It glided back to its place, swelling in the Kyoto night and overtaking it. He was no longer at the Aoiya. It was back to the void, that wondrous place where rest was complete. '_I hope and pray'_, the thought drifted through his mind, "_the afterlife is like this_.'

Sleep had one more thing in store to break his peace however, and it was this last scene that was partially responsible for vaulting him back into the real world.

"Don't lea – Oh please, don't l-leave me please."

"But he's getting away!"

"Just – "Raku choked on his own blood and slid to the ground. Aoshi caught him. "Just, do not leave me."

"Raku! Come now, it's not so bad! Do you remember before, when we fought – "

"Please! No, please!" Aoshi had to grab his friend's frantic hands to keep him from digging the wound that was oozing crimson like poison. A thin red river slid from the corner of his mouth.

"Hush, don't speak."

"But…I have…I need to…"

Aoshi looked away. What was this wetness here? Tears? Had he ever cried before? Cradling his friend against him, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Be calm, Raku. tell me, and I will listen."

"I – I'm sorry." The pain was nearly too much. Raku made a noise deep in his throat then managed "I took you from her."

One little knife wound! It had been nothing! Raku had experienced worse. How now was this to be his demise? Here in this barren landscape, in a sea of snow?

Those pure crystals at Aoshi's feet were not the color they should be. They were red and copper tinged. Time was hastening away in his confusion.

Suddenly, Raku drew in a harsh and rattling breath. A small spot of realization split all the questions hazing his thoughts.

"It's your lung my friend. Don't speak. We'll get help." Aoshi's voice was soft, much like it had been when speaking to Misao as a child.

"You're not listening to me, damn it!" Blood flew from his comrade's mouth like bittersweet rain. Aoshi did not flinch as the warm wet of it hit his face. "I said I'm sorry." Raku coughed. "I took you from her, all those years and it was for nothing."

Aoshi looked into his friends eyes. They were filling with a frightening emptiness.

"Forgive me! Oh please forgive me Aoshi, I cannot have p-p-p-p." Raku fought to get the final word out.

"Hush now. I forgive you. I truly do."

Raku tried to say something again, but the nothingness seeped fully into his eyes. The grip he had had on Aoshi's coat slackened. Around him, the world withered and died. He felt it somewhere deep in his heart. Things would never be the same. Death had knocked at the door, and though they had barricaded it, the monster had slipped in the window.

There was silence. Aoshi laid his friend gently in the snow. Raku's body sunk into it and it surrounded him as an icy sepulcher. Aoshi. A vicious nausea filled his stomach and bile rose in his throat. He had to turn away.

All there was then was whiteness, and his own grief as he clawed his way back to reality.

…o…..

Misao was shrieking when he sat up. Her shadow jerked and bobbed on the other side of the paper screens.

"Of all times for something like this to happen! It couldn't wait until after the wedding could it? Dead, hmm? So, Aoshi Shinomori is dead. Then tell me why the hell he's in his old room right now sleeping, as though he hasn't been gone a day. Tell me Omasu, because I'm dying to know."

Omasu was taller and more imposing. She stood across from Misao, her silhouette tense and agitated. Her hands were on her hips. "Don't you speak to me that way, Misao. I deserve a little more respect than that at least. It's not like I planned this."

The argument had been going on for a while. Aoshi could tell by the way Omasu stood, weight resting on one foot. It was the posture of a woman tired after bowing to the wind for so long. Misao was hoarse, her voice breaking again and again. Something told him that she had been weeping too.

"And what do I tell Haru when he asks of this new face here at Aoiya."

"Tell him whatever you like, just do not yell at me."

"Damn it!"

"That's not very lady-like Misao."

"I don't care if it's lady-like! Since when have I cared about that?"

"Oh! You're stubborn. No wonder he left. Even I can't take it, and I wouldn't be the one who would have to sleep with you. Good luck to Haru is all I can say."

A wounded stillness lay heavy like a blanket for a moment. "That was uncalled for."

"So was your yelling at me."

Misao's voice came in a small whisper. "You should have told me then. I had a right to know! I'm no longer a child Omasu."

"Then stop acting like one!"

The eye of the storm had come. Seconds ticked by, and the two women stared at each other. It was Misao who caved. Balling her hands into fists, she growled, "I'm going in there."

"Fine. Be my guest."

The door was already open a crack, and Misao's fingers curled over its edge before she slid it open.

The air was ringing and solid. A heady feeling made everything seem distant. She was wearing a long pale green kimono with small embroidered hibiscus flowers. He had noticed it earlier in Shirabeko, but not the sheer delicacy of it. It hugged her frame perfectly and brought out the soft teal tones in her eyes. For a moment, those eyes were wide with shock and something a little like horror.

"Misao." His own voice was strange.

Her face split with a vixen grin and she glided across the floor. Her hair floated on the air, like silk. Aoshi's breath caught just the same as it had on that night all those years ago. Stopping beside him, she slowly kneeled and reached out for him.

When the slap came hard, fast, and painful, he drew back in shock.

"You bastard." Her eyes glistened, but her words were clipped and matter-of-fact.

Before he could regain himself, she was up and running. Omasu slid through the door as she blew past. When Misao was safely out of sight, she spoke.

"I'm proud of you. That's twice in one day. From two different women."

Pride smarting more than his cheek, he brought one hand to his chin and sighed "I suppose I should consider myself lucky."

"The luckiest man alive. I thought she was going to kill you."

Aoshi nodded, wondering if he could keep on without smiling for much longer. "Me too," he muttered, "me too."


	5. Chapter 5: Trapped

**Chapter Five**

**Trapped**

Misao needed to sort things out.

In her room, hand still on the door, she stood with her chest heaving. Just breathing was difficult. It seemed as though a thick and viscous liquid was oozing through every branch of her lungs. With a strangled moan, she let herself sink down. It was in a most undignified position that she found herself crawling to her bed roll.

She buried herself there, face down, hands over her ears. Her sobs echoed and roared around her skull, magnified by her palms.

Oh that man! That wretched man! It was he that did these things to her. She was sure he was still sitting there in bed, looking awful and tired. Omasu would be there, no doubt having a perfectly civil conversation. He would nod once or twice, face stoic and calm. Omasu would have lines of worry and consternation etched across her forehead. Okina would, at some point, poke his head in to see what all the commotion was about.

And soon enough they would all be at her door looking for her.

So she lay, letting the sound of her own pitiful crying shatter her senses.

After letting disorder rule her thoughts for what seemed like hours, she curled up on her side and let numbness take over. She did not think of Aoshi, or of Omasu and Okina. There was nothing. Under her breath she muttered again and again, "One, two, three, four. Red as the sun that rises in the east, white as the snow upon the mountain, silver as the fish flashing in the sea, gold as the coins rolling in the dust at the merchants feet, four wedding kimono are to be complete."

It was only as the lights around the rest of the house began to go out that she found herself drawn back to reality. The others had not come after all, and here she was: all out of sorts, wrinkling her kimono and making a disaster of her hair. Sniffing once and trying to gather up her remaining dignity, she got to her knees. She began to run her fingers through the birds nest atop her head.

What a mess this all was. If Aoshi had only kept his feet firmly planted in Japan…but hadn't Kaoru once told her that such a thing was nearly impossible for men like Himura and Aoshi-san?

"They have a wander-lust that is insatiable. I know one day soon I will wake to find a note from Kenshin…or a frantic Yahiko pounding on my door. He will be gone, off somewhere to fight someone-at-someplace-for-some-reason. Of course there are two types of women Misao, those who will stay and wait hopefully, and those who will gather their things and go in search of their loves. I will always be one to follow I think."

Misao remembered telling her she felt the same. After all, she had trekked halfway across Japan to find Aoshi back when he was Aoshi-sama. She had known she would find him. They were destined to be together. What in the whole world could keep them apart? The second time he went missing however, she had stayed put. Now she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she had followed those impetuous, child-like convictions that had been so strong before.

"I wouldn't be caught in this fiasco." she whispered.

Satisfied that she was a little more presentable, she got back to her feet and brushed herself off.

He was still handsome…much more handsome to be truthful. His eyes were darker, his features a little more worn, not so harsh looking. Even though he was pale, when she had gone into the room color had filled flooded his cheeks. It was a brief glimpse of how he would look when his health had returned. Standing now in her room, she cringed as she remembered the fluttering feeling this thought had brought to her stomach. She had been ready to really give him hell. Somehow, only a biting remark and a slap (not a hard one at that) had been all she could manage. How pathetic.

No.

_I should be thinking of Haru! What am I doing?_

Haru was a little cleaner cut than Aoshi. He was from a good family and a good upbringing. His hair was cropped close to his skull, and his eyes were a soft blue like that of a hazy summer sky. He was quite tall, and when he was in uniform, she felt the same heat in her cheeks that Aoshi had so often invoked. A good looking man, yes, and even better off in society. His father had close ties with a company in the United States of America. No one knew what the company was involved in exactly, but the spokes of every one of Haru's carriage wheels were plated with gold. Misao knew she would never want for anything once they were married.

Somehow though, she doubted her life would be filled with adventure as his wife. Omasu insisted she would learn to like it, and Misao trusted Omasu more than she would let on.

There was a familiar aching in her ribs. Misao brought a hand to her chest and sighed. No matter how much she tried to convince herself that Haru was a better match, no matter how angry she was, she was overjoyed that Shinomori Aoshi was alive and well. Regret was trying to shove that joy back down into the dark spaces of her soul, but no matter what, a realization was dawning on her.

This was all a horrible mistake.

"I still love him." The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them. It was a good thing though, that this was out in the open.

Almost to spite her, there came a knock at the door.

She felt fairly caught and blushed. It was certainly Omasu, and if she had heard, Misao would be in for a lecture. She was promised to Haru, and that was a promise that could not be broken on a "whim". Checking her kimono one more time and patting down her hair she stepped to the door and asked softly "Who is it?"

The reply that slithered through the bamboo was not one she suspected and she felt a dizzying rush of adrenaline spiral through her limbs.

"Aoshi. Open up."

"A-aoshi?" she knew the look on her face was one of horror and she swallowed hard.

"Yes. I've come to apologize."

Oh damn him! To every circle of hell! Curling her free hand into a fist, she opened the door a crack. Aoshi's face was suddenly inches from hers. With a gasp, she jerked her head back a fraction of an inch.

"A-apologize? For what? We can't help our own stupidity after all." Poison painted her tongue. He could not know how she felt; Omasu was right about the marriage.

There was no readable change at her comment. He only looked bewildered, as though he saw something he had not expected. "You've…changed."

"W-what?" Misao was thrown. Was he apologizing? Or making some snide remark in return? She was aware of how very close he was. She found herself torn between looking him in the eyes and avoiding his gaze entirely.

"You're different, Misao."

"Well, it's been a while." She felt her voice shake and fidgeted as he let his eyes moved down her frame. He smelled faintly of burning cherry wood. One lock of hair was resting delicately over his brow.

"But I did not expect such a change."

"No? Why…I…" Oh, this was it! She wouldn't allow such things to distract her. Could he not keep his eyes where they belonged? She liked the attention, but at the same time it only fueled the rekindled emotions she was trying to extinguish.

"It is strange to me." His eyes met hers for a moment.

"Oh, I," some more of those pesky words slipped out without permission. Aoshi straightened up, abruptly towering over her. Misao took a step back and frowned. She was torn between being disappointed, and punching him where it would really hurt. "What's this about an apology?"

For a moment, utter silence drifted down around them.

Outside, the crickets were silent, still slumbering since the long winter. A gentle breeze ruffled the leaves of the rose plants running along the porch outside. The buds were not yet open, but remained rolled, firm and rock hard. Some were green yet. Beneath them, a mat of dainty blue flowers twined around their thorny base. The small blossoms trembled in the night air, fragile and surrounded by curved and dangerous blades. Misao found herself thinking of them.

Aoshi was watching her, silent and with the most serious expression she had ever seen. His voice, low and full of gravel, brought her back to him "Misao, I do not mean to waste your time, so I'll say it quickly."

The breeze outside fell still until he muttered three words.

"I am sorry."

Without meaning too, or knowing why, Misao felt a belated and stray sob leave her.

Aoshi's eyes flooded with sadness. "Misao-chan have I – "

"No! Heavens Aoshi, no. I – " she bit the knuckles of her right hand hard "I just – it's nothing. Go, alright? I'll see you in the morning." Tears were welling fresh and hot in her eyes.

Why couldn't she keep her thoughts straight? She loved him, she hated him. She wanted to take him right there and lay with him until the morning light spilled through the paper screens. She wanted to leave him bleeding on the floor. Every bit of energy she had ever had had been drained of her. Time sped away in the world outside. The midnight hour was drawing on and bringing with it stillness much like death. Misao was kept isolated within herself, even as Aoshi stood before her. Even as Omasu and Ochika slept in the rooms on either side of hers.

Aoshi could sense this turbulence in her soul, and she knew he could. But she had asked him to leave, and so he did. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to quell the dam that had broken inside her once more. It was in those moments she heard the door hiss shut. When she managed to open her eyes and wipe away the stinging tears, Shinomori Aoshi had disappeared.

A sound escaped her. It was something stitched together roughly; a moan, a scream and a sigh. All three were muffled by her fist.

She could not love him, no matter how much she wanted. The option had been yanked from her. She would be marrying Haru in twenty days. There was no way she could give her heart to another man. She was utterly trapped, and hating every moment of it.

Aoshi leaned against the wall in the hallway, listening as Misao fretted on the other side. Head in his hands, he thought of the men in the tea shop. He could hear them, their cold laughs. If Haru was truly involved with them, he would have to be able to fit in with them. Somehow, they did not seem the type that Misao would be attracted to.

Haru must be an illusionist to fool even Okina. In his heart, Aoshi was more and more convinced that the corrupt police officer Haru the men in the tea shop had mentioned, and the handsome, witty police officer Haru that Omasu had told him about were the same man.

Tomorrow he would have to pay a visit to the station down town. It was time to set a plan in motion.


	6. Chapter 6: The Groom

**Chapter Six**

**The Groom**

The police station was bustling the next morning. Officers came and went, some rushing off to their duties, others strolling out to patrol their respective areas of the city. The sky was brilliant. It was not as clear as it had been the past morning, but it made up for it with warmth. The air outside was balmy and pleasant. Aoshi had not seen a single woman or girl wearing a wrap on his way through the streets. Many of them had hurriedly pushed the sleeves of their kimono down as he passed, then shoved them up again once they thought he was not looking. The desire to feel the fresh spring air was stronger than any need to fulfill their obligations of propriety.

Inside the stuffy front room of the station, the few women seated and waiting to be called upon were wafting themselves lazily with fans. The men were more agitated and impatient, pacing and toying with sweaty cuffs and collars. The streets had been filled with a sweet smell of flower blossoms. Inside however, there was the faintly foul reek of people gathered like livestock.

Aoshi stood in the corner and waited for an old friend to come and meet him. The young man at the desk, who was barely in his twenties, had eyed him with suspicious as he came in the front doors. However, when he had whispered the name of one of the lieutenants along with the word "Oniwaban", the boy had gone off scurrying. Aoshi watched now as the boy came sauntering down one of the halls, followed by a short, pompous looking man.

Keijuro Rin had been a member of the Oniwaban group many years before at Edo Castle. Aoshi remembered quite well that he had been a ruthless killer by night and a chivalrous ladies man by day. It was almost funny now; as Rin stalked across the room with chest puffed out, a well rounded belly strained against the buttons of his coat. He was balding and had a rather large mustache. Together, the two features made him look ridiculous. Rin clearly thought otherwise. Stopping before Aoshi, he stood on his toes, placed his hands on his hips and squinted.

For a moment, he looked confused. Then light grew in his eyes and he roared loudly, "Shinomori-kun!"

Aoshi nodded once and held up a hand in self defense as Rin tried to give him a rather robust hug. The deflection didn't work.

"You're looking well! You always were skinny as a rail. _I've _been working out, as you can see." He laughed heartily at himself, and Aoshi disentangled himself from the sloppy embrace trying in vain not to grimace.

"Hello Rin."

It was all he could manage before he was cut off.

"Have you got a girl Shinomori? What about work? You _are_ working these days, aren't you? Hmmm?"

"I, er – "

"For goodness sake! You look exhausted, how about a drink, eh?"

By now, most of the people in the station were watching them. Aoshi didn't feel comfortable under all the scrutiny. He wasn't here to see Rin anyway; he had more important things to do. A little bit of guilt rose in his gut as he spoke. "Not now Rin, thank you though." He muttered "I was simply wondering – "

"Nonsense! Everybody could use a drink, eh?"

"Rin, Really – "

"Come on now Shinomori! Come on!" Rin took him by the sleeve and began to drag him down the hall.

Heat rising to his face, Aoshi heard himself blurt "I need to speak to an officer than works here. His name is Haru."

Rin skidded to a stop and looked surprise "Haru Namataga? He's engaged to that edgy girl at the Aoiya. Hmmm…Misao, am I correct?"

Aoshi felt his breath catch and answered too quickly "Yes."

"Ah, I see! Scoping things out, hmmm? How is everyone at Aoiya?"

"Very well." Aoshi was relieved as Rin began to lead him in a different direction.

"Okina?"

"Chasing girls as always."

"What about Omasu? Is she still a prude?"

Aoshi almost smiled "Quite."

"Hmmm, too bad. What about that cute little thing, Ochika?"

"Still…cute."

"I may have to pay her a visit then." He paused to laugh uproariously "And how about the lady of the hour, Misao? Haru hasn't stopped talking about her for weeks."

Aoshi's stomach went sour. He managed a curt "Excited."

"And she should be! Haru is a fine young man. I'm sure that's why you're here, hmmm? To check if he's worthy of her? Hah! Don't give me that look! You half raised her after all. I'm not a stupid as I seem Shinomori!"

"So it would seem."

"Ah! Don't worry yourself my friend. He's a good fellow. He'll take excellent care of your little Misao-chan. Ah! Here we are! One moment."

They had come to a door at the end of a long hall of offices. Rin brought a hand up and knocked with vigor. Silence and the bird songs outside were the only answer.

Then there came a voice, strong and brisk. The man behind the voice was full of energy "Who is it?"

"Lieutenant Keijuro. I have a visitor here for you."

There was another few seconds of silence. Finally, a latch clicked and the door swung open wide "Please! Come in!"

Aoshi took in the man on the other side. He was tall and stood straight as a bamboo pole. Offering them a dazzling smile, he watched them through soft blue eyes lit by some inner fire. His hair was very short and combed. Every button on his uniform was perfectly aligned, and at his side was a long sword.

Aoshi hated him already.

"To what do I owe this honor?" Haru's smile never changed as Aoshi came in and turned around. Rin stayed outside.

"This is an old friend of mine, Shinomori Aoshi. He's the one Okina and I were telling you about. The one who raised Misao for a time."

Haru turned to him. His eyes seemed icier than before. His smile remained the same. There was something strange about that wide curving of his lips "A pleasure to meet you, Shinomori-san."

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you." Aoshi knew that the words had sounded apathetic.

Rin bounced from foot to foot, looking between them with troubled eyes "Ah! Well, off to a good start I see! Please, Aoshi, do come and visit some time. I'll leave you two to chat."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll see you at the board meeting later?"

"Certainly Haru! Most certainly! Good bye now Aoshi."

"Good Bye, Rin."

Haru shut the door and Aoshi watched as he locked it. When he turned around, the coldness in his eyes was gone, but so was the smile. "Well now Shinomori-san – "

"Please, call me Aoshi."

Haru paused, trying to read him. It did him no good. "Aoshi then. Won't you sit down?"

"I'll just be a moment."

"Right then. What can I do for you my friend?"

Aoshi watched as he moved to a small cupboard in the corner and opened it. In a moment, he had returned to his desk with two small cups and a bottle of rice wine. He held a cup out to Aoshi, but Aoshi only shook his head. Haru shrugged as if to say "suit yourself" and sat down to pour his own.

Haru's office was lined with shelves and shelves bowing under the weight of heavy tomes. The titles of several of the books were long and hard to pronounce. Some were combat manuals that Aoshi had read as a young boy. Still others were encyclopedias about a hundred different cultures around the world, in just as many different languages. The books directly behind the desk, and the ones most worn, were history books and books about the different treasures of the world.

All around the office, the manuscripts were carefully organized and standing level. One small volume among those on the shelf behind the desk however, was not. It was titled at an angle and hung out over the edge. Several small markers created a paper forest from between the tops of the pages. The title was gold leafed and flaking away. From what little Aoshi could see it was about precious artifacts from around the world.

"You like books?"

Aoshi tore his eyes from the shelf and looked down at Haru "I'm fond of them, yes."

"Me as well. They're miraculous doorways, are they not?"

"Indeed."

"I love history myself. It's fascinating to study the patterns of human interaction through the ages. One can almost see the future by looking into the past."

"Almost." He found himself staring at the book again.

Haru chuckled once "You're not a man of many words, are you Aoshi."

"I can say what I wish to in very _few _words. I see no point in using more than that."

"How very practical of you."

Aoshi sensed his sarcasm and found it irritating. "Thank you."

Haru grinned. "You're Welcome. Now, what can I help you with?"

Aoshi watched him carefully "I just wanted to meet the man that Misao would be marrying. To see if he was well suited for her."

"Ah. So, what is your assessment?" Haru gave him an arrogant smile. He leaned back in his chair and spread his arms wide.

Aoshi pretended to scrutinize him for a moment. "I suppose you'll do."

He almost jumped as Haru laughed, "I like you Aoshi! You've got a sense of humor, but I wish you would tell me the truth. You don't like me. I can tell. Misao has spoken much about you – only good things, I assure you – and I must know the complete opinion of the man she holds in such high regard."

Aoshi offered him a sickly sweet smile not much unlike the one Haru had had painted over his features before. "You seem fake to me."

Haru's face fell. He had obviously not expected _that_ sort of honesty "I don't know what you – "

"You know what I mean. I said that I think you're fake."

"Now wait just a minute!"

Aoshi felt satisfaction course through his veins at the look on Haru's face. It was a priceless one, full of surprised anger. "Before you get all ruffled" he said casually "Could I ask you something?"

Haru glowered at him from the other side of the desk, barely maintaining his composure "I suppose I must."

"It is just for curiosity's sake, but have you been planning on stealing any princesses lately? I heard a man at the docks speaking of you just two nights ago."

Outside, a bird sang out from amid the blossoms of a rose bush. The streets of Kyoto were filling with hordes of city dwellers as they emerged from their winter-long slumbers. Inside the police station, things had gone as quiet as the grave.

Later that afternoon, Aoshi was still feeling very pleased with himself. He had left Haru shaking and pale. He had managed to slip from the station unnoticed. From there, his path had led him to the market where he had bought fresh cut lilies. Carrying them against his front and in the shadow his own body made, he managed to keep their silk-soft petals protected from the sweltering sun. Once at Aoiya, the lilies had found their home in a small green Vase outside Misao's door. Silently, he had gone back to his own room.

Now he and Okina were sitting in the garden listening to Omasu hum as she did the wash. Her hair was pulled back under a handkerchief, and her sleeves were rolled up. The flesh of her arms shone red from the hot water, and her cheek bones were pink from the sun. Not far away, Ochika was on her knees pulling weeds from around small green shoots. She insisted they were tulips.

Misao was no where to be seen.

Aoshi took a drag off his cigarette. He had promised himself he would never touch the dreadful things. They reminded him far too much of Saito. Somewhere along the road to Paris however, he had decided that one now and again would not kill him. Okina lounged next to him wearing an old, torn sun hat. He was watching the young girls walk to and from market through the small chinks in the fence. Aoshi almost smiled.

Slowly, he became aware of a presence behind him. Holding the cigarette tightly between his lips, he turned to look and saw Misao. She was mere inches away wearing a brilliant vermillion kimono with a large sash. Streaks of gold thread ran through it. As his eyes traveled to her face, he saw one of the lilies he had purchased earlier tucked behind her right ear.

"Okina?" she murmured, "Has Haru come yet?"

"Hmmm?" the old man stirred lazily and blinked "Ah! My pretty Misao…no. I have not seen your beau. It wouldn't surprise me if he's run off with one of those slender things outside the gates though."

Misao gave him a small smile and shook her head "Someone left me these lilies outside of door this morning. I thought perhaps he might have brought them."

Aoshi had turned back to look at Omasu, but he could feel Misao's eyes like a small fingertip pressing lightly between his shoulder blades. He barely suppressed a shiver.

"Hallo there!" Across the yard, a familiar voice greeted his ears, shadowed by the creaking of the front gate. He felt his shoulders fall.

"Haru!"

The boards he was sitting on shifted as Misao flew past Aoshi and into Haru's waiting arms. Aoshi looked away. He found himself concentrating on the wind chimes at the end of the long porch.

"Ah Misao! Who gave you this lovely flower?" Haru's voice drifted across the garden to him.

Once again, he felt Misao's eyes on him. "I'm not sure." This time it felt like fingertips tracing his jaw. He brought a hand to his mouth and faked a discreet little sneeze.

"Bless you." Okina muttered, amused.

"Where would you like to go today my darling Misao?"

Aoshi couldn't stand it anymore; he looked with blazing eyes to the couple now standing at the gate.

Haru was looking even better groomed than that morning. A smile was back on his face, much less sweet and much more genuine.

"I thought we might go to the sweet shop and put in the final order for the cake and the pastries."

"What a wonderful idea." Haru's eyes met Aoshi's as he slid an arm around her waist. They never moved as he placed a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

"Haru…" she laughed and put her fingers to his lips. She was blushing.

"Shall we?" Haru finally dragged his gaze back to Misao. She giggled once and turned to shout a good bye to Okina. Okina waved once.

With another creak of the gate, she and Haru were gone.

Aoshi found he was digging his nails into his leg. Calmly, he let go and let his eyes travel to the sky. Far above, a hawk drifted along on thermals. As time passed, it began to glide lower and lower. Nearly a half an hour went by like mere minutes as he watched the bird float slowly downward. In that time, he crushed the end of his cigarette into the dirt and began to trace invisible patterns on the wood with his little finger.

The world seemed to speed up as the hawk's flight pattern changed. Aoshi watched with grim knowledge of what was coming as it pulled itself into a dive and plummeted towards the earth.

It drew a little shout from Omasu and Ochika, and a gasp from Okina as it plunged it's talons into a small mouse dashing past Aoshi's feet. Aoshi met the birds gaze as it turned to look up at him. They regarded each other with cold disaffection.

Time reversed its order. Mere seconds seemed to ooze by like hours.

Finally the hawk burst up from the ground, bleeding pulp clutched in its claws. Aoshi watched it fly away until it had disappeared behind the nearby houses. For a moment, no one in the garden moved.

The wind chimes tinkled lightly and set things back into motion. Omasu and Ochika made their way inside whispering about the strange incident. Okina looked to Aoshi with concern in his eyes.

"Aoshi?"

He turned to face him. His small finger ceased tracing patterns.

"Is everything alright?"

For a long time, neither spoke. When someone finally did, shadows were growing long in the western half of the garden.

"I think so." The ghost of Edo Castle found the words leaving his mouth as a whisper, sounding prophetic "But something about that whole thing…the hawk and the mouse…it seemed so familiar."


	7. Chapter 7: Tell Me a Story

Author's Note: Had more difficulty with this chapter…this story is slowly making itself a little deeper than I had initially planned. Funny how stories will take on a life of their own. You guys are in for a longer ride than you thought, but it should be fun, so hold on tight!

**Chapter Seven**

**"Tell Me A Story"**

"Hah! Misao-chan you're finally doing it!"

Omasu laughed and leaned forward as Haru spun Misao around.

"Excellent! Excellent! A little hesitant at first, but you did beautifully."

Misao blushed and stepped away from Haru, still holding his hand. "It's a lot harder than any sort of martial arts."

"You're catching on wonderfully. You'll be that talk of the town soon. Just wait until the wedding!" Haru smiled and butterflies fluttered deep inside her stomach. Furtively she glanced to where Aoshi was sitting on the porch.

He was smoking again and watching her outright. Pulling the cigarette from his lips he gave her a little nod of approval. It was so strange! Five days ago she had found the lilies outside of her door. It quickly became apparent that it was not of Haru's doing. That left only one other culprit: Aoshi. Omasu and Ochika would have no reason to do so, and if Okina was going to buy flowers it would be for the young girls that walked past the front gate, not her.

They were an apology, that much was also clear.

Haru had told her that Aoshi had come in on that same day that she received the flowers, to see him at the station. Apparently he had expressed deep disapproval concerning their match. At first Misao had been angry, but as she watched the two men interact, she felt herself mollified. They were tolerant and civil with one another. Now and again she would catch them casting challenging glances at one another, but a pointed clearing of her throat remedied that.

Being fought over was not so unpleasant, but being torn over the situation was. She wanted so much more to be in love with Haru than with Aoshi. As time went on though, she found things that she loved in both of them. And she found that it was difficult pushing Aoshi from her thoughts.

"Ah! Careful Misao." A little hiss of pain brought her attention back to Haru, who had let go of her. He was standing in the most awkward position, massaging his right foot.

"Well, you _did _know how to waltz." Ochika snickered from her seat.

Misao felt hurt gathering in her stomach, but it dispersed as Haru put a loving hand on her shoulder "It's fine, I assure you. We have plenty of time to practice. Why doesn't Ochika come give it a try?"

Ochika paled and held up her hands "Oh no! What do I need to know about dancing in the ballroom? That's really not – "

"Oh come on Ochika!" Omasu laughed and pushed her from her seat on the edge of the porch. "Besides, Misao needs to sit down and take a rest. Look how flushed she is!"

Ochika glowered and went to Haru. Under his breath he muttered verbal instructions and began to lead her through the same steps as Misao.

Misao found her seat beside Omasu and ran the back of her arm across her forehead. It came back sticky with sweat. She let out a long breath "That's harder than it looks."

"Well, you never exercise anymore Misao. You've put on some weight!" Omasu frowned as Misao turned to her with venom in her eyes "Calm down! It's a good thing. Your figure has finally filled out, hasn't it?"

Indeed it had. For the first time Misao had breasts and curves – things she had sorely missed for a very long time. The mirror was finally showing a reflection that she liked. She was no longer invisible to men, no longer mistaken for a young girl. This had its good points, as well as bad. There were offers to carry things home from the market as well as lots of help crossing the street. At the same time, she often was treated as though she were far too fragile to do anything on her own. It was the most annoying result of all, but time and the ardent admiration of many a young man had dulled even that sting. Being a woman was much better than being a child.

"Ouch!" Haru gave a little cry of pain for the third time in two minutes, and everyone turned to see what was going on.

He was laughing, tears streaming down his face at the same time. Ochika was biting her nails. "Haru-san! I apologize! I just can't seem to get this right. Must I really learn this?"

Haru stood up straight and nodded "Now my dear, I'm convinced! I _must_ teach you to dance. Such a pretty thing as yourself – though not as pretty as my lovely Misao - must not be left with an excuse to avoid the ballroom floor in the future. Swans are meant for dancing! Not for sulking along the walls!"

Misao smiled. _This_ was why she loved Haru. He was such a kind man. He never had a bad thing to say about anyone! Even in telling her about Aoshi's visit to the station he ha remained calm, collected and even understanding of Aoshi's concerns. Now, helping one of her dearest and clumsiest friends learn how to dance, he remained chivalrous, let alone tolerant.

He was not making things easy for Misao's torn heart.

The afternoon wore on. Omasu became more and more interested in learning to waltz herself, and Ochika was still having trouble. Okina had long since gone to meet some friends at the Shirabeko.

Misao found herself sitting alone on the porch with Aoshi, watching Haru make a daring attempt at teaching her two friends at the same time.

"_No _Ochika! You stand take my hand this way!"

"Omasu, you'll trip yourself if you insist on holding yourself with that posture."

"Ochika, keep your hand _here_."

"Ah! That was my other foot…."

Misao found his attempts quite gallant and couldn't help but admire his patience and determination. The shadows were growing long upon the earth, and the sky filling with a pale orange light. They had gone outside since just after their noon meal. Misao was starting to feel dizzy from all the sun.

So when Aoshi stood up and disappeared into the kitchen, it did not take her long to decide to do the same. She was too warm and the thought of the cool and dark interior of the Aoiya was enticing. Standing, she called out across the garden.

"Haru, I'm going in for a moment. Would any of you like something to drink while I'm inside?"

"Y-yes." Ochika panted nearby and leaned against a bamboo pole for support. There was a light of resolve in her eyes. She wouldn't quit for a while yet.

"Omasu?"

"Yes Please! Perhaps you could bring out the wine Haru brought?"

"Is that all right Haru?"

"It's one of the best ideas I've heard all day! Please do darling. And why don't you fetch Shinomori-san while you're at it?"

She didn't like the look that crossed Haru's face when he mentioned Aoshi. Or his tone. It was filled with sick sweetness. Misao felt her mouth go dry "I'll just be a moment."

Walking across the porch felt like walking to her own grave. Haru would be civil with Aoshi for propriety's sake, but even she would admit that involving him when it wasn't openly necessary was not like Haru's nature at all.

She understood it in any case. He was not a stupid man. There was no doubt he sensed her fondness of Aoshi. When Emiko had first introduced Haru to her, it had only been three years since Aoshi had gone missing and Misao remembered being quite vocal about her hopes of his return. As time had gone by, this had changed very little. But after a year and half of his hanging about the Aoiya, Haru had finally proposed. She had ceased mentioning Aoshi and accepted.

But love doesn't disappear so swiftly, she'd come to understand that as well, and Haru was often much quicker to comprehend things than she was.

Misao slipped into the kitchen and slid the door shut behind her until it clicked. What a day this was turning out to be! And only two weeks now until she would be wed. Her mind ached with everything.

A candle was lit in the corner of the kitchen and it complimented the evening glow seeping through the window over the stove. The house was settling under the weight of the evening, and Misao stood a moment listening to its joints tired groans and sighs. Those were the sounds she liked best, the ones that kept her awake at night. To think that the house was a strong wooden giant and needed rest too made her feel less weak.

The door leading into the rest of the house was open a crack. Stepping across the kitchen to shut it, she remembered Haru's request for her to get Aoshi. For a moment she considered telling a little fib: Aoshi was sick and did not wish to get out of bed. She could not do it though. Was she such a coward that she couldn't look her oldest love in the eye and ask him to come outside? Childish!

Looking back over her shoulder, she stepped into the hall –

And right into Aoshi.

"Oh!"

They both muttered hurried apologies. Misao looked to the floor; Aoshi stared. She muttered something about Haru wishing to see him, and suddenly found herself rambling.

Wasn't that funny? Didn't he dislike Haru? He had gone to see him at the station and Haru had seemed shaken. What had Aoshi said to him? Something no good, for certain! But that was none of her business. What was she thinking? She muttered another apology and started to ask if he was feeling well. She could tell Haru if he wasn't. She would even say so if Aoshi really wasn't and just wanted to stay inside. He wasn't obligated to do anything, especially not for her sake! She could just get the wine and go back out and tell Haru that he was sick. They were having wine by the way. And if he wanted wine, he was more than welcome to hmmph mmph! Mmph…rummmph…..mmmpuuuphlph….erph?

Misao looked up at Aoshi, her eyes wide. She looked back down at his hand resting over her mouth.

Then back up at him.

His eyes were sparkling, but as usual there was no real smile. He brought a finger to his lips and let his hand slide away. For a moment more they both stood there and Misao giggled nervously at their closeness.

Damn him!

Misao found she couldn't stop giggling and lost her balance. Aoshi caught her and held her steady, watching her with one eyebrow raised.

"Oh," she tried to catch her breath, "Oh my goodness! I'm sorry Aoshi. I don't know .what came over me."

"Are you sure there's any of Haru's wine is left?"

Misao gave him a blank look then began laughing again.

Aoshi stood and patted her on the back as she guffawed into his shirt. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but a sour little pinprick grew in bottom of her belly. Later, she would still be unable to recall when the laughter turned into tears. Aoshi stiffened even more at the sudden change and patted her on the back.

"A-Aoshi?" Her voice was muffled.

"You're going to have to stand up Misao. I can't understand you like that."

Surprised he would be able to understand her at all in her state, she stood up straight and sniffled once "I – where – how come – " she stopped and tried again "Where were you all this time."

Aoshi relaxed and sighed. He had been waiting for the question since his return.

"Misao, I thought you would never ask."

Misao tried to clear her thoughts. She began by wiping her tears away and fixing her hair "So?"

"It's not a short answer."

She bit her lip. Haru and the others would look for her soon. Especially if they had heard her little outburst. She felt ashamed.

"Perhaps, you can tell me later? Tell me a story?"

Aoshi nodded once "I have many of those. It shouldn't be too hard."

"I need to – "

"I understand."

"Later? When – "

"After everyone – "

"Is asleep?

Aoshi tilted his head.

"Thank you Aoshi. I'm sorry I –"

"No worries Misao. Go. Be with your fiancée."

That word coming from his lips brought everything crashing down around her. Tears danced in her eyes again, but when she looked to him she found no comfort.

He had already turned his back and was halfway down the hall.

"Misao! You sure took long enough!"

Misao found Omasu, Ochika and Haru resting on the stone benches beneath the cherry tree. Carrying four cups and the wine with utmost care, she slid down next to Haru.

"You look like a ghost love! Is everything alright?" Haru's eyes narrowed "Where is Shinomori-san."

""He wasn't feeling well." She muttered "And it's nothing. The heat was overpowering. I feel a little faint."

"Well," Haru soothed her and ran his fingers through her hair "It'll be all right here in the shade. Come Omasu! Will you pour the wine for all of us?"

"Of course Haru." Omasu was watching Misao with suspicion.

Misao found, after everything, that she was too tired to care.


	8. Chapter 8: A Legend Undone

Author's Note: Please enjoy this chapter as thoroughly as possibly. I combed through about a bajillion articles until three o'clock in the morning – and then from the time I woke up until two in the afternoon to formulate the entire Raku situation. I realized that, while I knew Aoshi was gone for five years, and that his friend was kidnapped and eventually killed…I didn't know why. I positively blush with shame at my short sightedness as a writer. But hopefully I've satisfactorily remedied the situation with lots of history based fiction. I feel a little like Watsuki-sama with all his obsession driven historical knowledge! ^-^

Much Love my loyal readers!

**Chapter Eight**

**A Legend Undone**

The doors were shut and locked against the night and the last of winter's cold. Frost had not graced the grass in weeks, but the dew upon the tender blades was still chilled enough to numb bare feet beneath the moon. Misao lit the long taper candle and shivered, hugging her night-clothes close. She listened as Omasu and Ochika's conversation died in the next room, and smiled as she heard the latter shuffle off the her own room a few moments later.

Their tones had been low and conspiratorial. Misao knew she would find out what they had been talking about soon enough.

She waited until she heard the clock far off at the center of the city chime eleven times before convincing herself that Aoshi would not come.

On her side, beneath her blanket, she relished in the warmth it provided and watched the fire-shadows dance on the walls. Calves aching and soles sore from all the dancing of the day, she now felt content. Haru's father was having many guests from the West who happened to be in Kyoto attend the wedding, so the reception had the necessary influences to make them feel at home. Of course the tradition was there – Westerners were just as obsessed with the Japanese as the Japanese were with them. It was to be a celebration and show all at once; a clash of the old and the new. Misao couldn't wait. Ballroom dancing was just one of the many surprises in store for her friends coming from Tokyo.

Himura, Kaoru-san, Sano, Miss Megumi, Tsubame, Tae and even Yahiko would be there! Kaoru would certainly ask Himura for a dance, and Misao would make that little brat Yahiko dance with Tsubame if it killed her. She heard they were growing quite close to one another through her correspondence with Kaoru-san. This brought her thoughts briefly to the letters in the drawer of the corner table. The last letter had confirmed that everyone would be coming for the wedding. Just one week until they arrived.

Haru would have to teach them all to dance!

Misao felt her eyelids drooping. Drowsily she frowned. Thinking of guests, she found herself wondering about two people of the past. Saito Hajime came first. She knew he held no great attachment to any of them, but would he be insulted if he heard of the marriage and found he had not been invited?

She giggled at that thought, then doubly so at the thought of him attempting to dance with his wife. She had no idea what his wife looked like but somehow her mind conjured up the image of rigid old Saito trying to twirl a large, boisterous woman around the floor. This phantom wife had pouched cheeks, pouting lips, a bosom as enormous as her bottom, and a fantastical upsweeping of raven hair. Her imagination squeezed every inch of the woman into an obscenely small kimono of the most hideous orange.

And the more she pictured it, the more possible it seemed.

But the sobering image of Hiko swiftly dismissed the fantasy.

Now here was a problem for tomorrow. In the morning she and Omasu and Ochika would have to take a walk and visit Himura's old master. The best rice wine in all of Japan would be at the wedding, and it _would_ be an insult not to invite him. Besides Ochika had suggested more than once, in an off-hand sort of way that they ought to go and ask him to come. Two weeks was not very much notice, but Hiko couldn't be expected to bring a gift of any kind or to come decorously dressed anyway. Knowing Hiko, he would probably already be aware of the approaching event and considering attending whether an invitation presented itself or not.

The candle continued to flicker and became a sort of visual lullaby. Misao forgot about Aoshi, about the wedding, and about uninvited guests. She fell into a hazy dream filled with dancers in beautiful dresses from Paris and London and the most expensive stores in America. In the middle of them all was Saito and his gossiping wife, too busy trying to talk to the women around her to notice that she was trouncing on her husband's toes.

….o…

Aoshi waited until he heard Okina return from his evening out. It became apparent that the old man had managed to entice a woman home, and he wasn't sure if he found that repulsive or amusing. Deciding to ignore the situation entirely, he remained in his room for a while. When he was sure that Okina was sufficiently distracted, he slid out into the hall. There, he made his way to Misao's room. As he went, melding with the shadows was as easy as breathing.

Once safe inside, he let out the breath he had been holding and turned around only to have that same breath catch in his throat.

A candle in the corner was very nearly burned out. The only sound in the room was that of Misao's gentle breathing. She lay sprawled on her back, mouth slightly open. Her hair fanned beneath her and shimmered in the dim light. Blanket barely rising to her waist, the front of her night clothes were open dangerously wide though not wide enough to show anything substantial. Aoshi felt like he'd stumbled into forbidden territory.

But thoughts like the ones tumbling around his mind would not do. Crossing the room, he stooped low and closed the nearly-revealing gap in the soft cloth. Feeling a little better, he shifted forward and blew gently into her ear. It was something he had often done to wake her when she was a young child.

Moments passed and nothing happened.

Then Misao began to stir, stretching and twisting a little. Aoshi kneeled, sitting back on his heels. Inwardly, he steeled himself for the story he was about to tell – or at least begin to tell. It was too long to try and remember, let alone fit in, every important detail. It was a story that began nearly two decades before, at the very beginning of Meiji. And it ran right up until the moment that he climbed into the boat at the dirty little port on the shores of China to return home.

Misao finally opened her eyes and blinked. She squinted at him for a moment, noticed how loose her top had become, and fixed it. A rosy tint settled on her cheeks as she sat up and nodded a greeting that was marred by a yawn.

"I-I didn't think you would come."

"Why not?"

"It was late and I heard the clock in the square chime eleven. "

"Okina returned home with a woman, so I decided to wait."

Misao's complexion turned a little green.

Aoshi changed the subject. He looked away and fiddled with her coverlet. "In any case, I'm ready to tell you your story."

"All of it?"

"Some."

"Aoshi!"

Misao gripped one of his knees and gave him a look he hadn't seen in many years. Not since she was a child! "It is a very long story Misao, and you said yourself the hour is late."

She started to speak, but stopped and nodded.

"I shall tell you the reason I left, and of the time I spent in Tokyo, tonight. Tomorrow, if you wish it, I will continue."

"That's fine." She gave him peculiar sort of smile.

Aoshi felt a little confused "What – "

"I've never heard you talk so much."

Aoshi let out a rattling breath and shook his head "I never thought it possible myself."

"Well, tell me this story before you decide it isn't! I want to know where you were, and no lies. Okay?"

Aoshi debated for a moment if the complete truth would be a prudent thing to tell her. If a younger Misao sat before him, one who did not think before she spoke, it would not be. But here with this more adult version of Misao, it would be fine. He consented. "No lies it is. Get yourself comfortable.

He was surprised as she got to her knees and rested her weight against him, palms flat upon his knees. She watched him in an attentive and catlike manner.

"Everything that led to my leaving the Aoiya here in Kyoto was a result of events that began during the Boshin War…"

"Hold on!" Misao stopped him before he could continue. She left him and crossed the room. With expert speed she pulled out two more candles from her drawer. Lighting one of them off the nearly spent one, she placed it in a silver candelabra and brought it over with the unlit one to where he sat. Aoshi didn't have to ask to know that the shiny holder was a gift from Haru.

Misao set the candelabra to the side, and the spare candle on her pillow. Returning to where she had been before, she sat with her legs turned to the side under her, resting her right hip against his knees this time. She looked comfortable, and he certainly didn't mind her being there.

"All right! I'm ready now. Please continue."

Aoshi nodded once, feeling a strange sensation in his stomach, and began again, this time with a question. "Do you remember Raku Toshibu?"

Misao bit her lips for a few seconds before recognition dawned in her eyes "Uncle Raku? The one who used to visit when I was little? He would always bring me the best presents. I think I still have the paper lamp he brought me, the one with the peacocks on it?"

Aoshi stiffened "Yes, that Raku." He had not expected her to have any recollection of him.

"He's in this story too?"

"Yes, for a great deal of it."

"All right then! Let's get on with it."

It was disappointing to think he would have to kill that light in her eyes.

As time swept forward, Aoshi felt the words spilling faster and faster, not only from his mouth, but from his heart. Misao listened even as she had to light the second candle, and until she drifted to sleep.

….o…..

"Of course you know of the samurai Saigo Takamori. He aided the Emperor in creating a new army to crush the Shogunate and take back power. Saigo was quite knowledgeable concerning combat as is apparent today: by 1870, the Emperor Meiji was the ruler of Japan once more.

"But Saigo was not happy with the new government for very long. As the Emperor continued to drag Japan into a modern era, he banished much of the evidence of the old era – including the samurai class to which his old field marshal belonged. Though Saigo did not mind the modernization itself, he _did_ mind the fact that his rights as a warrior were being denied. Before long, he became angry with the Emperor and gathered other samurai around him who felt the same.

"Today, less than ten years later, we know his uprising as the Seinan War, or Satsuma Rebellion.

"Now, it is told that Saigo gathered nearly 40,000 men behind him and led a campaign that culminated with the siege of Kumamoto and its subsequent deadly battle of Shiroyama. In the end, despite all his best efforts, Saigo was wounded and performed Seppuku before he could be captured. With the aid of one of his remaining 400 men, he was decapitated. It is well known that this same man also hid the old warrior's head so that his body could not be identified later and dishonored.

"Saigo is now a hero is he not? I hear his name whispered often in the dead of night, and it would seem that many believe he may still be alive since his body was not identified among the casualties. This is of course, not the case."

Misao knew all this. She had lived as it happened, but as he stopped she turned to look at him "Aoshi?"

"Misao-chan, nothing past this point will ever leave this room. Do you understand?"

Misao felt chills running up her spine. She recognized his tone: it was one he had often used during darker days after Kaoru's death so many years in the past.. "Y-yes."

Aoshi nodded, then continued "Five years ago, I received a letter from my old friend from at Edo castle. You know him as Uncle Raku. The letter was in a horrible state, covered in blood and who knows what else. It was hastily written, and I could tell that Raku had been fearful as he penned it. It was only three lines long: He needed my help, and if I did not come he and his family would perish. They were well hidden, but the government has many wolves that hunt in the night. I could find him in Tokyo at a small inn near the Akabeko.

"I left that night and was in Tokyo three days later. I found Raku where he promised I would be able to, but I barely recognized him. His body was ravaged with terror; his long silky hair was half gone, both eyes were surrounded by circles of exhaustion so vivid they looked like black eyes, and he couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds.

"He took me upstairs, where I found his family hiding in a small dingy room. His wife and two daughters looked no worse for wear, but had great sorrow in their eyes. Apparently, the night Raku had sent the letter, his boy of fourteen had been cut down in the street by the sword corps.

"Once I had insisted that his wife and daughters would be fine for an hour or so, we went down to the Akabeko. At my request, Tae put us at a table in the back and warned us of every incoming customer under the guise that she was seeing how our meal was going. Raku had beef pot as my treat, and ate it as though he hadn't seen food in weeks. Between mouthfuls, he whispered to me a tale that was strange to say the least.

"Back when the Satsuma rebellion was just beginning four years earlier, a man had come to Raku's door with a proposal. Apparently the government had heard of his experience with the Oniwabanshu and knew of his abilities working in the shadows. The man dropped two other names that Raku had not heard in years: Keitaro Botan and Kozue Matso. Both had been in the Oniwaban. Though I did not recognize them as he spoke, Raku had apparently been close to them, and hearing their names set him thinking about the glory days of the group.

"So when the man proposed that he join the other two ex-members and do a favor for the government, Raku was already inclined to say yes. When the man told him the sum of money he would receive for such dirty work, it made his answer even easier. He had been having trouble with the rent, after all.

"The mission was simple. A location was appointed where he would meet the other two men. From there they would proceed to the hiding place of the rebel Saigo Takamori and slit his throat. After accepting and following all instructions carefully over the next few weeks, everything went as planned. Saigo Takamori died in a small village just north of Tokyo, and the next day Raku found he was able to pay his rent before the due date for the first time in years.

"But he was confused. As the weeks went past, there was the continued appearance of Saigo's name in the headlines, and the police still raided apartments in Tokyo from time to time looking for him. Raku kept his head low and listened for news.

"He didn't need it. One day in the market, Saigo Takamori rode through the streets accompanied by a hundred samurai, all within a foot of my old friend. Raku, proving that 'once an Oniwabanshu, always an Oniwabanshu', recognized the imposter right away. Though it was not Han'nya, it was another man much like him, also from the Oniwaban. The fake Saigo inclined his head as a form of recognition, and went on his merry way.

"As history proves, the siege of Kumamoto and the battle of Sumiyoshi both happened, and Saigo Takamori did die. But the Saigo killed in battle was not the real Saigo Takamori. Botan Keitaro, disguised as one of the samurai, aided the imposter in seppuku and hid his head. This was not so the _government_ couldn't identify the body, as Botan told his samurai 'comrades'; but so that Saigo's followers could not identify the monster-faced Oniwaban spy beneath the clever Saigo mask.

"Back in 1881, as I sat in the Akabeko with Raku, he muttered to me that there were Political Parties for the first time ever in Japan. At the same time, rumors concerning the whole Saigo scandal were slipping out thanks to the third assassin, Kozue Matso. The government was already suffering intensified scrutiny thanks to the proposed attempt at having Party elections, and decided that it couldn't take the risk of such things being revealed to the public. If the people learned that the carnage of the battle of Sumiyoshi was a farce, who knew what would happen?

"Of course, the assassination of Saigo, and his clever Oniwaban replacement had been an excellent maneuver. While the samurai followed their leader who in the past had exercised brilliant military maneuvers, the replacement fed them tactics that were massively outdated, leading to their failure. The government hadn't wanted this to result in Saigo's martyrdom, but seeing that it only spawned legends and bedtime stories about a samurai leader who was still alive and plotting revenge in the mountains, they figured that no real harm was done.

"It was only when Kozue started spewing the truth that they had him dealt with swiftly and ruthlessly. He was found dead in front of the palace with an un-detonated bomb. Raku knew that this was meant to make the poor man look like a crazy conspirator whose rumors held the weight of an insane man's words.

"But he also knew that he and Botan were next. The success of the Political Parties rested on the people's utter trust of the government. They would not leave loose ends.

"So when the two of them went into hiding, the government had targeted their families to draw them out. Raku lost his son, and Botan his wife. It was no joke what was happening. I received the letter three days after the two unfortunate deaths."

Aoshi paused for breath; Misao was watching him with sleepy, yet horrified eyes.

"Do you see now Misao, why I had to go?"

She did not answer. Guilt was painting her face as well. Aoshi wanted to finish this part of the tale before she fell asleep, so he moved forward without offering comfort.

"After that lunch, Raku and I went back up to his apartment. Following that, he and Botan shuffled around Tokyo along with their families. I acted as their guard and managed to cut quite a trench through the military forces that were sent after them.

"Only for a year though. One night, two men grabbed Raku's little girls when my back was turned. A ransom note appeared the next day, delivered to me by a confused looking boy. Raku went off to see if he could find his daughters, against my better judgment.

"And so, the next day I received a second letter much like the first saying that if Botan was not delivered, Raku and his two little girls would die. But perhaps if I brought Botan, then there _could_ be a talk, man to man considering an alternative to death. Of course, these were not matters to be discussed on the shores of Japan. I was given the name of a port in China by the messenger boy, and the next day Botan, Raku's wife and I were on a ship bound for China.

"It was only the beginning of the journey."

Aoshi found that Misao's head had fallen into his lap. He let out the softest of sighs and massaged his throat. Had so many words left his lips in his entire life? Misao muttered something about him continuing under her breath, but he knew that she was not truly awake. Carefully, he shifted her onto he bed roll and drew the covers around her. Moving the candelabra away from her, he blew out the flame and waited as the small red ember on the end of the wick died.

Misao was muttering in her sleep still. He hoped he had not given her nightmares, but she had asked to hear the story in the first place. Misao almost always got what she asked of him.

Leaning over and pressing his lips to her ear, he took in a deep breath. Her hair smelled like roses and lilies. For a moment he closed his eyes.

"I will return tomorrow to tell you more." He whispered "In the midnight hour."

Misao whispered something incoherent in reply.

Moonlight spilled into the room. The smell of candle smoke dissipated in the air along with a thin snake of smoke. Somewhere out in the dark an owl cried into the night.

As usual, Shinomori Aoshi was already gone.


	9. Chapter 9: Visiting Hiko

**Chapter Nine**

**Visiting Hiko**

The hillside path was dappled with sunlight and shadow. A light breeze stirred the treetops overhead, creating a rustling that blended with the whispers and ramblings of the creek running down from where Hiko's home was. It was mid-afternoon and the day was already as warm as it was going to get. Misao held her kimono close and shivered a little as a bird flitted across the path in front of her. It twittered joyously before disappearing into the budding leaves above.

Omasu and Ochika were not far behind, speaking to one another under their breath. Ochika was shaking out of her skin, and Omasu was trying to calm her.

"Why are you so nervous? It's only Hiko. He's a grumpy old man that – "

"He's not _that _old Omasu!"

"All right, I'll admit he doesn't _look _that old. But if he has been telling us the truth all this time, then he's over fifty!"

"But he doesn't _look _over fifty. You just said so yourself."

"He's still grumpy."

"That's all you have against him then. Plenty of men are grumpy."

"He's also conceited."

"So –" she struggled "Are – other men!

"He's reclusive."

Silence.

Omasu grinned and looked forward "_And _old."

Misao smiled too, for she knew that Ochika was glaring into the trees. She was so sensitive about Hiko-san! They had only seen him a few times since the incident with Shishio Makoto almost ten years ago. On occasion he would come down to market with his pottery and sit in a corner sipping sake. His work had grown popular over the years so his stall was usually full. Even so, he would always say hello to them when the rush was over.

Then it was back to drinking and keeping his nose in the air.

Ochika had always found a reason to stay in the market late on those days. She would hover at the kiosks near Hiko's and shop until after dark, but had never said a word to him. Now that they were going to his home, she would be in a position where she might actually have to talk to him, and that left her a wreck.

The trees were thinning around them. Misao looked to her feet to find that the path was becoming more worn. The stream's song was growing louder as well. Filtering its way to them was the acrid smell of a large fire, along with hazy smoke-laden air. Now and again the sound of sticks crackling and popping under intense heat greeted her ears.

Today, Seijuro Hiko was making pottery.

Eyes downward, Misao could see sets of footprints, all made by the same two feet, coming and going alongside the set that she was making. Apparently Kenshin's old master was restless and doing a lot of walking. The earth was like clay up in the hills where the morning mist still soaked it each dawn, so the evidence was clear.

Misao felt rather agitated herself. Slowing her pace a little, she let her mind drift to the night before. Aoshi had really thought she was asleep as he left! Thinking of his lips pressed to her ear made her shudder with a feeling that was unfamiliar, even when she spent time with Haru. It was not unpleasant, but it frightened her. It only made things more complicated. Bringing a hand to her ear, she felt herself blush. Her soul endeavored to soar with the birds above.

The other things he had spoken of were more sobering however. She had to admit, she was very disappointed to hear about Saigo Takamori. She remembered the year of the Satsuma Rebellion – it was the year before she had left the Aoiya to go in search of Aoshi, and the year before she had met Himura and the others. It seemed so long ago. Now, things were flooding back. She could see herself huddled on her bed roll reading the newspaper every night by candlelight. Saigo Takamori had been a focus of obsession. When the article appeared saying that he had died during one final brave stand, her heart had swelled with pride. He had become a sort of role-model for her. To so bravely oppose the Emperor himself was an amazing feat. To lead so many men in a battle that was destined to be lost, that took courage!

The legend had been ruined for her. Somehow it didn't seem to matter so much – she loved Raku more. He had come to the Aoiya often when she was young. She remembered running down the hall more than once to fetch Aoshi, screaming all the while that 'Uncle' had arrived. Raku had always brought presents for her. Often, he insisted she would marry his son. Aoshi would join in the teasing and agree, barely flinching as she rounded on him with small, furious fists. Marrying meant kissing, and kissing was GROSS.

That would never happen now. She mourned for the boy she had never met – the one who had died at the hands of the sword corps on a lonely Tokyo street. Aoshi did not say in detail how things had happened, but sorrow was in his eyes when he spoke of it.

And he had mentioned it as if in passing. Perhaps Raku's son had seemed like a son to Aoshi as well. It was not so far fetched, as she had become a daughter to Raku when he was not able to be with his family back in Tokyo.

In any case, her insides itched to hear the rest of the story. Impatience gnawed at her belly as she thought of a small boat bobbing its way to China.

"Misao-chan! Are you listening?" Omasu's hand hit her shoulder "I said your name three times!"

"Oh! Omasu, I'm sorry. I was thinking about something Haru said." What a liar she was!

"Is that so?" Ochika sounded gleeful as she came up beside her as well "Then why are you blushing? I bet you were thinking of him without any clothes on."

"Ochika! That's not appropriate!" Omasu was horrified.

"So what if I _was_ thinking of Haru without any clothes on?" Misao figured she might as well play along.

"Hmmm. Was he handsome?"

"Very."

"This isn't appropriate." Omasu repeated.

"Come on now, there must be a man _you_ think of naked." Ochika turned to her.

"Of course not!" she snorted, but color was bleeding into her cheeks.

"Oh! Have we caught you? Come now, who is it?"

"No one! I wouldn't dare!"

"I know. It's Kenshin's friend, the tall one who likes to fight."

"I never saw him enough to even entertain the thought."

"But you're saying that if you had, you would entertain it."

"Never!"

"Maybe it's that man you always talk to when we go to the Shirabeko."

"NO."

"The man who always brings us messages?"

"NO. NO. NO."

"Is it…Aoshi?"

Misao, who had been listening to her two friends banter, had to do all she could to continue walking and keep her face blank. Deep inside, she felt her stomach twinge. An irrational sort of anger rose up.

"No. Not Aoshi either." Omasu sounded wary "He's my _friend_ Ochika."

"I don't know who else it could be."

"I told you! It's no one. I'm not thinking about men right now."

"You're no fun."

"Is that so?"

Misao tuned them out. A bright orange flickering, as well as a large and dark smudge of a building were taking shape ahead. They melted out from the puzzle of tree trunks and became clearer and clearer the closer the three women walked.

Her mind drifted. Last night had been so confusing! She had wanted to be mad at Aoshi, but how could she when his friend had really needed his help? And it was no small thing that he had been swept up into. A whole section of national history had been washed away and declared false.

"Hey Omasu?" she heard her friends cease bickering behind her as she spoke "Do you remember Saigo Takamori?"

"The samurai who stood against Emperor Meiji?"

"That's the one."

"I do very well." Omasu's voice remained neutral "He was a brave man, doing what he did. Why do you ask?"

"Oh! I was just thinking. I found an old newspaper article about him in my drawer last night. It was intriguing."

"He was a brilliant man."

"I know I am. Handsome too."

"EEP!" Ochika shrieked behind them and both women turned around quickly. Misao felt her heart fluttering dangerously in her chest.

For a few moments, no one spoke, and her heart ceased beating against her ribs.

"It's _you_!" Omasu rolled her eyes as they met Hiko's.

They had entered the clearing, but Ochika stood at its edge, eyes wide like a frightened fawns. Behind her stood Seijuro Hiko, one hand resting on her shoulder. He was stooped low and peering at them over her opposite side.

"Three beautiful young women of the Oniwaban come to visit me late in the afternoon. They're all dressed up and too loud to hear me sneaking up on them. I am quite curious to know whatever it is that brings you here. It couldn't be an invitation to, say, a wedding? Could it? I certainly hope it's not all a dream."

Misao smiled, remembering why she adored Hiko so much. He watched her with an amused expression before standing up straight and starting towards the fire.

"I can't say that I expected you would marry a police officer. I always thought it was that Shinomori Aoshi that made you pant like a dog."

"Now wait a second!" Omasu was horrified. He gave her a curt look and she quieted.

"Ah, well. Congratulations. I heard about it some time ago. You're marrying the son of one of the most affluent merchants in Kyoto. Gossip about you is rampant. Haven't you heard any of it? Besides, Okina sent me a letter telling me that you would probably forget to send an invitation. That or you would come on the last moment as you have now. Smart man, wouldn't you say?"

He gave Misao another half grin that amounted to a baring of his top teeth. She wondered: why was it that one's stomach grew sour when talking to him? At the same time she considered that fact that he could still make her smile.

"Would you like to come inside and have a drink?" Hiko had made his way over to the fire. He pulled out a glowing piece of pottery from within using rusty tongs, and set it down to cool.

"Of course!" Ochika's eager voice came from behind everyone. Hiko looked over his shoulder at her and her face grew as bright as a cherry. Clasping her hands behind her back and looking to the ground she muttered "If it's what you wish, that is."

"I don't particularly _wish_ to spend the afternoon with anyone, but since you're here you might as well."

Omasu and Misao shot each other a grin. Typical Hiko.

"We would love to Hiko-san. And you're right of course. We're here to invite you to the wedding. If it means anything, our friend Emiko has ordered to best sake from Tokyo for at the reception."

Hiko's eyes brightened. "Well, why didn't you say so? Who could say no to such an invitation?"

"Indeed. Who could?"

Striding towards the door of his hut with a new light in his eyes, he looked back "Add me to the list of those who have already accepted. You aren't expecting a gift, are you?"

Thinking of the night before, Misao giggled. She had been right after all! "No. It's not necessary."

"Good!" He appeared to be even happier. "Come on in then!"

…o…..

Inside, it was dark and a little dank. The air was sweet and earthy. Some of the ceramics yet to be fired were waiting on shelves that lined the walls. There was no end to the diversity of what Hiko made – there was everything from tea sets to what looked like necklace pendants and beads. Omasu gazed at the latter with particular interest until Hiko brought in three cups that he had made, filled with crystal, cool water. They each thanked him and he nodded, insisting that they keep the cups when they were finished. From the glittering in his eyes Misao could tell that he was enjoying every moment of entertaining them.

Ochika sat very close to Omasu as though she could disappear into her. She was gazing towards a small room at the far right of the hut, through which one could easily see Hiko's bed roll.

He noted this and goaded her with a suggestive wink. She choked.

Omasu was trying to stop the exchange before it went further "Hiko-san, have you heard much news from Tokyo?"

"I hear things whispered when I bring my wares down to the market." As he found a seat across from the three of them, he drew one leg up. "Nothing significant. It would seem our government is as scandalous as ever."

"Oh! I meant about Kenshin!"

"My idiot savant of a pupil? He hasn't finally gotten himself killed has he? When I saw him eight years ago, he came pretty damn close." He paused for effect "As did all of _you_."

"And we're thankful that you came to our aid." Misao laughed and then raised both eyebrows "Honestly though, I think Omasu was going to ask if you had heard that he has a child now."

One could have heard a pin drop, even over the noise of the fire outside. Hiko sloshed a good amount of sake out of the jug he was pouring from. He didn't notice until it made a mess of his shoes "Ch-child?"

Omasu gave a short nod "Yes, a son. He should be close to four or five now I think. Kaoru-san hasn't wanted to go on the roads with him to bring him for a visit, understandably."

"A son, eh?" Hiko drew a long finger down the length of his jaw. An idea was forming behind his eyes, and it was not one that he would soon reveal, that was obvious.

"I believe they named him Kenji." Omasu looked to Misao for confirmation.

"Yes! They chose Kenji as the name. Kaoru-san and I have kept each other up to date fairly well over the past few months."

"Kaoru, hmm? She was that nervous one that you brought here those many seasons ago, am I correct? She followed that idiot boy all the way from her little dojo."

"That was her."

Silence reigned again. At long last, he sighed "Well, I'm happy for him. At least he was able to pull himself up out of his own stupidity long enough to get himself a good wife."

Even as he tried to act blasé about the entire thing, Misao could tell that Kenshin was more of a son to him than ever. She wondered if either of the two men would realize the relationship in time to make something of it, or let it out in the open. Most likely not. Hiko was too stubborn and egotistical and Kenshin was too inclined to let his old master go on being that way.

At least the older man had been there for Kenshin back on that terrible day when he was so young. No rescue from bandits meant no little Kenshin, no little Kenshin meant no big Kenshin – and she couldn't even imagine a world without their scar-faced friend and protector.

Misao shivered as another thought drifted through her mind: Aoshi might never have come back that first time had everything not fallen into place the way it eventually did. If she could not marry him now, at least she had been given that time before to spend with him.

During the slow simmering quiet that had now descended on them, even after so brief a talk, Omasu began to notice that Hiko looked out into the clearing now and again. Sensing his sudden distraction, she piped up "Hiko-san, if we are imposing upon you and interrupting your work, you need only say the word and we'll leave you in peace."

"Hmm? Oh! Don't worry. I was just thinking." He stopped for a moment "Well, I do have a big order to send into Tokyo by the end of the week. I don't wish to simply turn you out on the doorstep however."

Misao and Omasu swept to their feet and bowed in perfect unison.

"Say no more Hiko-san. We'll be heading back now. I have a kimono to finish up and Misao has some things to memorize for the ceremony."

"We're not offended, really."

"I don't care if you're offended, I'm just stalling. The heat of the fire is uncomfortable today."

Misao giggled behind her hand. "Hiko-san, you're something else, that's for sure."

"What sort of something else?"

"Something…different, but good."

"It makes me feel much better to know that it's at least a _good _sort of different then." He motioned to the door "You first."

Once outside, they noticed that Ochika lingered in the doorway. Omasu sighed and rolled her eyes "What is it now Och – "

"Do we have to leave?" she regarded them from beneath her lashes. Most of the look was aimed at Hiko.

He was grinning.

Omasu put her head in her hands.

Misao had to stifle a snort.

"Perhaps you two should head back to the Aoiya on your own. I'm making a particularly lovely vase in a little while, and I would like to show it to Ochika."

"I'm sure that's – "

" – fine Hiko-san." Misao slid a hand over her friend's mouth "Could you walk her home though? These forests are dangerous to wander through alone, even as an ex-Oniwabanshu. I'm certain though, that as the master of the Hiten Mitsurugi sword style, you would have no trouble fending off scoundrels."

Ego thus stroked, Hiko just nodded and waved them away. "Yes, of course. No problem. See you at the wedding Misao!"

Ochika winked at Misao and crossed her fingers. Thankfully, Omasu didn't see that part.

…..o…..

Omasu required firm guidance at least half of the way home to Aoiya. Most of the way she protested and ranted about the impropriety of the entire situation. Leaving a poor defenseless woman alone with Seijuro Hiko! Of all men…

Misao assured her that Ochika would not mind being taken advantage of, should it come to that. With a wry grin, she added that even if Hiko was an obstinate, conceited, and rude bastard, he would never do such a thing. She knew she was right of course. No man who raised someone like Kenshin could be enough of a monster to go after a "defenseless" woman.

Omasu finally saw the sense in the argument and settled down.

This didn't stop her however, from informing Okina the moment they walked in the door that Ochika was alone with Hiko at his home up in the hills.

Okina just smirked and muttered a comment low enough for only Misao to hear. "It's about time! I thought she would never get up the courage!"


	10. Chapter 10: The Lace Mangroves

Author's Note: I'm trying another story telling method this time. Hope you don't mind. Some weird stuff happens to Aoshi and the crew, but I thought it added some spice…^_^

**Chapter Ten**

**The Lace Mangroves**

As Aoshi made his way down the hall, he heard the door in the kitchen slide open. Stopping, he listened and waited.

It was not quite midnight yet and the clock far away in the city was silent. Okina was snoring away and Omasu had long ago stopped pacing the hall. There could only be one reason that someone was coming in so late. He had heard the whole story from Misao earlier on.

Sure enough, after a moment of silence he heard a soft giggle, followed by the low rumble of an unfamiliar voice: Seijuro Hiko's.

Satisfied, he slipped away towards Misao's room. The last sound that graced his ears as it left the kitchen was that of Ochika's voice, asking the old swordsman to stay until morning.

…..o….

Misao's eyes were as wide as an owl's, luminous in the semi-dark. As Aoshi took a seat at the edge of her bed roll, she whispered "I didn't want to light a candle. Omasu was prowling like a cat outside. I also didn't want Ochika and Hiko-san to see light from in here when and if they came back. You know she's the worst of all for gossip."

"No need to explain."

"Are you ready to tell me more?"

"As much as you stay awake for."

"I never fell asleep last time."

Aoshi knew he must have looked shocked, for Misao began to laugh behind one hand. He took a moment to regain his composure, feigning interest in the room.

Indeed, no candles were lit, and everything lay obscured by shadows. This was much more comfortable than the glow of the other night. It matched the tone of the story much better, and he felt more at home. In the corner, on Misao's little table, he noticed a newspaper article clipped. Even though barely visible, it was clearly brittle and crisp with age. Saigo Takamori was emblazoned across the top. Beside it, a letter was half spilt onto a piece of paper.

"You do realize," he said after a long time "that the letter that you have started there will not reach Kaoru before she arrives. She is one her way now, I'm certain. She would not take the forest road from Tokyo, not with a small child. Even if Kenshin were with her."

"Yes, I do. And I'm glad to hear you call him by that name." Misao whispered the words "You only reminded him of his past when you called him Battousai."

"I have only just forgiven him."

Perhaps that had been a weighty thing to say. Too weighty. She did not reply to it. As Ochika and Hiko passed by outside still murmuring to one another, silence reigned in the room.

Leaning close, he managed a soft "Outside."

If Ochika and Hiko were in the next room, still awake as he suspected they would be for a while, it would no do to tell the story so close to where they were.

Misao obeyed, pushing the covers down with utmost stealth. He hid a smile. Even if she had not been exercising, she still maintained the craftiness of a member of the Oniwaban.

Without a sound, the door to the porch outside moved through a well-oiled track. Misao showed him which boards would creak, and they both avoided them. Bare feet touching the grass, neither could suppress a shudder. Aoshi watched the woman he was only just truly coming to understand. She danced through the roses and other blooms like a spirit ahead of him. Love swelled deep in his soul, and he quelled it without mercy.

None of that now.

Beneath the sweeping arms of the cherry tree, Misao disappeared. Bare feet caressed by the sleek petals littering the ground, he sighed as he found a place to sit against the trunk. There, they faced opposite directions, but their shoulders pressed together heavily. It was just enough

"Shinomori Aoshi, tell me a story."

Her fingers lacing with his, he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. The image of the mangroves of India, branches intertwining with one another like tightly knit lace, rushed across his mind. Their hands together were like those lace mangroves. He was not sure they would make it to that part of the story tonight.

As the sky grew deep far above, Aoshi let his words race each other to the moon.

…..o…

He told her of the tossing waves, of holding Raku's wife Chizuru steady as she was sick over the edge of the boat. Sometimes Botan would do that instead and he would keep watch. No doubt there were government men onboard, and it would not do to be caught off guard. Not that one of the Oniwabanshu would ever find himself so captured.

Eventually land stained the horizon gray. For two days they moved towards it, going against the wind. The place where they finally hit shore was a little harbor northeast of Hong Kong, somewhere along the Taiwan Strait. They were barely off the docks ten minutes when a man unpeeled himself from a nearby alley and told them where to go next. Aoshi had to resort to carrying Chizuru in a way she very much disagreed to, but she was too weak to walk, and they had to go immediately. Though she knew him better, Botan was too short to haul a woman of her stature around.

The directions that were given led them to a little hut on the outskirts of the village. An old woman met them at the door, eyes full of fear. Botan knew Mandarin well enough to know that the men from the Japanese government had threatened her with something. She gave them a small piece of parchment and they left. After arguing with herself audibly, she chased them up the street and informed them that her son was holding two small girls at his farm not to far out into the country.

"I am old, I am very old." Botan translated her out loud for Aoshi and Chizuru's sake. "What those men do to me, I care not. But those little girls! If you tell my son that I sent you, he will forfeit himself as well. He is but a farmer, and he did not wish to defy those awful men for the sake of me. He has no wife. Go there! Go. The girls are there."

Chizuru found renewed strength in the knowledge that her daughters were still well.

By the next morning, they had slogged through enough rice paddies and cow fields to find themselves considerably soaked. Nonetheless, the old woman's son lived right where she had told them. The man who answered the door was burly, with a boisterous face and kind eyes. Messy hair gave him an air of frivolity.

Inside, as the girls were reunited with their mother, there was a brief celebration. The man told them his name was Liu. He laughed as they told him about their plight, and his poor 'mother'.

"Ah! She did well then. How would you feel if I told you you've been duped?"

They regarded him curiously. When he spoke next, it was in Japanese.

"Some men came through the village when I went in to sell some head of cattle. They had these poor things all tied up in the back of a cart. An old friend of mine distracted them while I grabbed the darlings and hauled them back here. That woman you spoke to was the old soothsayer. She read her turtle shells for me."

Botan raised an eyebrow.

"Come now! I figured someone would come through looking for these little wonders. Not only did the girls tell me so, but when I went to the soothsayer she read her shells for me and told me whence you would come and how you would look. I told her to send you in my direction if she saw you. I figured no one could find the girls out on my lonely old farm."

Aoshi asked him some questions, and the man answered them honestly with help from the two little ones. After many thanks had been given, and the five weary travelers were making for the door, Liu barred the way.

"My farm has been barren for a year now. I'm not a man of religion, but I'll take it as a sign. Lend your ears to me for just a minute. You cannot go home yet if all you say is true, so why not have fun looking for your friend? The continent is a wonderful place. If you need someone to show you around, I am more than willing to oblige. You may not believe it, but I've been around this world twice before."

And so they had a guide. As he led them through the fields he was silent as a cat. His voice was painted by a strange accent, even as he conversed with them in their own language. Aoshi wondered aloud what he meant when he said he'd been around the world twice. Liu just smiled and spoke in an undertone "I was once the prince of a palace, and it was no palace in China. That was before the first time I died. Prior to the second, I knew quite a few things about horses, that I did!"

As the months that were to pass flew by, Liu turned out not only to be the strangest man Aoshi had ever met, but the most wise. It seemed he knew a great deal about Arabia and Egypt too. But that was a story for another night.

For weeks, they all tracked Raku across China. There, they saw the Imperial Palace and a parade with hissing paper dragons and fireworks. They caused mayhem at the Great Wall, painting the girl's faces white with make-up and having them pretend to be ghosts. While it allowed them to travel a considerable distance without questioning or trouble, by the time they neared its end, they had a whole troop of Imperial soldiers on their tails.

They ran in with Opium smugglers, masked thieves, and a British explorer who seemed to think he'd found another world entirely. He would not be convinced that he had simply wandered the wrong way out of the Himalayas.

As Aoshi spun the story so it wove its way through the cherry branches above, more time passed than had the previous night. The moon was hanging low, and the clock at the center of Kyoto chimed three. When he turned to Misao, her eyes were still shining and filled with wonder.

He felt a familiar pang of desire. If only she could see these places first hand!

"Misao, have you grown tired?" He noticed her hand still clutched his, even tighter than before.

"No! Go on!"

Throat dry and cracked, he continued anyway. Anything to keep her fingers entwined with his.

The first snow of the season forced them to stay where they were for a while. Cold and tired, having lost Raku's trail a month before, they finally found an inn to stay in. They had managed to make it into the foothills of the Himalayas before winter struck. From Tokyo's alleys to China's last monsoons and Nepal's first snow, Aoshi had now been gone from Kyoto for a little over a year and a half. He found he missed it horribly.

But things were about to get stranger than they already were. Not to mention worse.

For the first half of the winter, Aoshi spent much of his time with Botan. Chizuru and Liu stayed in the inn with the girls, while the two old friends would hike up to a Monastery that lay nestled in the cleft of a nearby mountain. Most of the monks there were old and wizened, but a few were and young and had brilliant, intelligent eyes. They let Aoshi and Botan meditate in the silent echoing chambers of the isolated building, and sometimes even brought them down into a large subterranean hall where ancient manuscripts were kept. Most of them were impossible for those who did not speak the monks' language to read. One monk had been quite a traveler in his younger days, however, and knew many languages. He would translate the strange symbols on the pages into fluent, beautiful Japanese. It was here that they first learned of a pesky creature that would cause a good deal of trouble one fateful day at twilight.

The yeti.

Aoshi found a sketch late one evening by the flame of a candle as it flickered in a horrible draft. A blizzard was raging outside, and its fury was managing to trickle down through the earth. Shivering and drawing his coat near, he held it up to the monk, who stood behind him serenely, unaffected by the cold in pale orange robes.

"Ah!" He whispered, "it is not good to speak of these in such weather as this, but it seems you have discovered a drawing of a yeti, better known around here as Raksha."

The monk seemed shaken by the image and while muttering something, made a few motions before thrusting the piece of parchment beneath a stack of ancient tomes.

"Ask me of this when the sun graces the sky again."

Disconcerted by the wise old man's reaction, he only nodded and moved onto the next shelf. It seemed that some ill had already been done though.

There was a strangled cry from upstairs. Both Aoshi and the monk looked ceiling-ward and stood still as stone. The sounds of a struggle became clearer and clearer, as well as a loud crashing as the large front doors of the Monastery swung open and shut in the winds.

Taking the stairs three at a time, Aoshi and the old monk (who demonstrated surprising agility) ran for the world above. They had only just reached the decaying door at the top of many flights when a moan echoed above that of the wind. It was low and growling, yet high and shrieking all at once. Aoshi felt afraid for the first time in many years.

If he was frightened, the monk was petrified. The large doors slammed in a horrible gust that made the walls shiver.

A long hush fell over everything, and after a moment, Aoshi managed to get up the courage to leave the stairwell.

The scene beyond was disastrous. Two of the newer monks lay writhing in blood. One of them was missing an arm; the second was clawing at five deep gashes across his shoulder. Snow melted with the crimson liquid pooling on the floor creating a hellish slush.

The elder monk, who had been with Aoshi, leaned over the younger and more severely injured of the two boys. He asked what had happened.

The boy, almost a child, let one wheezy word drip from his mouth along with his life "Raksha."

In the hours of mourning that followed, Aoshi felt the guilt for the death fall upon him. All the orange clad monks simply shook their heads with great magnanimity and told him that he was new to the Himalayas. How could he have known about the snow demons?

Come morning, the storm cleared and a sky of the deepest blue replaced a tattered and tumultuous one. The muddled events of the night became lucid as well. Apparently, Aoshi had found a drawing of an ancient snow demon that called up snow storms when it felt a hunger for the body of a man. Some knew it as the yeti, but most in those parts called it Raksha. When the old monk had uttered its name in the hall, that had been enough to summon it. The inexperienced boys had been passing the doors when the creature bid them let him enter. Not knowing any better, they allowed it through.

Its lust for human blood slaked, the storm the demon had called up began to calm.

Botan was especially skeptical of all this.

Until he and Aoshi started to head down the mountain to the inn, and ran into Liu towards the bottom. He was leaned over enormous and wicked looking tracks. Beside them lay a frozen, child's arm. Most of the flesh had been eaten off it, and bleach white bone was all that remained.

Botan muttered something along the line of "This is not good."

After running the rest of the way back to the inn, they all barred the door and had a good long nap before explaining to Chizuru what all the fuss had been about. She believed the tale more readily than any of them had, and made the girls swear they would not leave the inn during a snow storm for any reason. The girls listened wide eyed as Liu gave them a rather vivid description of the arm and all its fibers spread across the snow.

They were the best behaved little girls for the rest of the winter.

Then one morning, the youngest one, Takia, found a note that had been shoved beneath the door. The trail to Raku had been reestablished.

He was in India now.

…o….

The clock was chiming four when Aoshi finished. He had wanted to reach the part about the mangroves, but Misao's eyelids were drooping despite her best efforts. His voice was nearly gone as well, worn as blade used too many times. Without needing a single word, Misao perceived all this.  
Still holding hands, they both used the tree trunk to draw their tired bodies up to a standing position. Leaning on one another for support, they tiptoed across the dew-chilled grass. The ground had grown much colder, but instead of curling their toes, they dug them into the earth as they walked. Somehow everything felt right. Misao thought briefly of Haru. But only briefly.

Dodging the creaky boards was more difficult than before, but they still managed. Like unbalanced herons, they way they made was clumsy, but quiet as ever.

By the time Aoshi latched the door and turned around, Misao was already burrowing under her blankets, shivering heat into them. He smiled down at her and she returned the gesture.

What a tale! More and more he could see her being drawn into it. Her anger was almost forgotten. But only almost.

"Tomorrow? In the midnight hour?"

Crossing the room, he paused and nodded once.

"In the midnight hour."

"Good night Aoshi."

She thought she heard him mutter something of the same, but when she looked, he had diminished to a memory.

And sleep was welcome.


	11. Chapter 11: The Duel

**Chapter Eleven**

**Duel**

The Aoiya was warm, quiet and dark, filled with the thick scent of hickory smoke and lilies. Misao lounged in her room and watched birds sweep by outside the paper screens. They were all male finches, sparring and twirling around in the dusty earth. The afternoon shadow puppet show was quite amusing. What they would go through for their plain little brown and feathery women!

Misao had the Aoiya to herself for the day. Hiko had slid out before dawn, just before Omasu awoke and came to fetch Ochika. How funny it might have been if the two lovers had been caught red handed! Ochika had already made herself presentable though, and was waiting.

The two older women left as the sun spilled into the streets. They were off to make final arrangements for the wedding and get supplies to finish the red kimono. Emiko was going to meet them, which meant they would be out all day.

Misao had made Okina and Aoshi some breakfast, but the former muttered that he was meeting the "boys" downtown at Shirabeko. Aoshi ate a few bites before offering a similar excuse and leaving. She knew he had only eaten to make her feel better. In any case, she knew that they would also be gone until dinner.

But still, an entire day to lounge around and act very un-lady like was all hers. The old day clothes she used to wear were a little tight, but still fit well enough. Before too long, she planned on going to the dojo and practicing a little. Almost a year since she had been in there! If Aoshi could see just how out of shape she was now. All that he had taught her – it would make him cringe to see how much she had forgotten.

Oh Aoshi! Misao found her thoughts drifting to his story. She had never known he could be so eloquent. The first night, his words had been hesitant, his sentences choppy…but the second night, his voice was more musical. When he spoke, the world became like a painting of a thousand hues and shades. Bright, fluid shapes danced before her eyes and she found herself in distant lands rather than the Aoiya.

She had forgotten how angry she was supposed to be.

She had forgotten how to be angry at all.

Oh! How could she be? He was back, after all. The excuse he offered was valid – she would never wish Aoshi forget his friends for her selfish sake. Safe in Kyoto, that was how he had left her. If there had been any chance that she would encounter danger in his absence, he probably would not have gone.

And he went to help Uncle Raku. Misao knew she would have done the same. Especially if Raku had two young daughters who needed protection. She was starting to find the fact that Aoshi would sacrifice his life for the two little girls rather charming.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She was falling in love all over again. A pang of guilt made her bring a hand to her chest, but the fluttering of her heart put an end to that. One day. She could sit there and think about Aoshi for a while in the warmth of the afternoon. Haru would never know, and as long as she didn't act on it, what harm could it be?

None, she was convinced.

Indulging in a happy sigh, Misao smiled to herself and ran her fingers through her hair. Early afternoon was melting into three o'clock, and all was right with the world. The birds' chatter was a pleasant background noise, and even as Misao heard the door slide open far away in the kitchen, she remained sitting with her legs curled under her.

After a moment, she found herself on her feet, head cocked and listening. No on should be home yet! So who was coming into Aoiya?

As if to answer her thoughts, Haru's voice filtered through the stagnant afternoon air "Hello? Okina-dono? Omasu? Ochika? Misao-chan?"

For half a moment, she felt caught. Had Haru read her mind and her unfaithful thoughts? It felt like it! Heat of another kind made her blush with shame.

Then as soon as it hit her, it was gone. Even as she took the first steps towards her door to go out and greet him, an old familiar feeling spider-webbed through her limbs.

Mischief. She wanted to make mischief.

Grinning, all guilt forgotten, she exited the room tip-toed down the hall.

It was as easy as breathing to make her way down the hazy, silent halls. Hand here, foot there, watch the squeaky board in front of Omasu's room. A jump to the left and another few steps before –

Pressed flat against the wall, she brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle and peered around the corner.

She was startled by what she saw. Haru was standing just outside the kitchen and listening. His Katana was drawn, and a short man stood at his side.

The newcomer made her uneasy immediately. There was something calculating about his eyes. He was heavyset and had a single eyebrow crawling across forehead in much the same way as a wayward caterpillar might. His bare feet, like two plump sweet rolls, were covered in dirt. A small nose made for a pinched face. When he spoke however, his voice was like silk, slithering down through her ears and into her belly. She barely suppressed a shudder.

"Pity. I had hoped we might meet that fellow here. I really wanted to see you beat him senseless. That would teach him to not to sit around in tea shops and listen to conversations that are not his own."

Haru was distracted "You should have told me that he was there when you met your men."

"He looked like a waif at best, I'm telling you. He didn't exactly seem like an ex-okashira. If he even _is_ one."

"Oh, he is." Haru seemed satisfied with the silence of the house, and he sheathed his blade. Standing up straight, he brushed a gloved hand past his brow "Misao has told me plenty of times."

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she's shared her bed with him before. From what you tell me, every other word out of her mouth is his name."

A look came over Haru's face that puzzled her "Well, then she has."

"You're a better man than I. I'd kill the whore."

"Well, I am not you, and I suppose that's good for her then. Come now, let's take a look around."

Haru glanced in her direction, and she jerked her head back around the corner, trying to keep her breathing even. What was going on? Why was he saying things like this? Who was the strange man? He had seen Aoshi at a tea shop? When had all this happened? Misao was confused, and a deep ache was settling into her chest.

Haru was a good man, so why was he here in the Aoiya with such a disreputable character? Why had his sword been drawn? Had he planned on hurting Omasu or Ochika, or Aoshi? She thought they were getting along! And certainly he would never raise his hand to a woman. Tears began to prick at her eyes.

Gulping down a few breaths, she calmed herself and leaned around the corner again. Haru and the man were just disappearing down the opposite hall. It led to the dojo, Aoshi's room, and Okina's room. What could they possibly want down there? Trying to remember everything she had learned from Aoshi and the others of the Oniwaban about stealth, she began to follow them. They were certainly up to no good.

Despite being out of practice, everything felt right. Her feet were where they should be; her arms, her hands, her entire body was taut and ready for an attack. The world seemed clearer. Sounds echoed around her skull, amplified and ringing. She felt as though the soles of her feet weren't even meeting the wooden floor. Turning herself over to her surroundings, she continued to listen to Haru and the stranger talk, moving ever closer.

They were in Aoshi's room.

"He seems very neat. It doesn't look like there's a single mote of dust in here. His bed roll looks untouched. Maybe we should go check your woman's room. Maybe his really hasn't been." The stranger chuckled.

"He's got a couple books in this drawer. This one is a history of Europe. Ah-hah! This one looks like a journal."

Misao stopped just outside the door and listened intently. Aoshi didn't keep a journal.

"No, this writing is too nice to be his. It's a woman's. Each entry is signed Chizuru."

Misao heard the books hit the floor and frowned.

"Here Haru, some letters. The most recent one is dated about a month ago. 'Dear Da and Uncle'. Hmmm."

"Let me see." There was a moment's pause "It's in a child's hand writing. Ah, look here. It's signed Aiko and Takia at the bottom. Little girls hmmm? Does Aoshi have children no one knows about?"

Misao titled her head to the side. A letter from Raku's daughters?

"No, he's uncle, I'm sure. The letter in itself is no good. We might be able to use the little girls for something though…"

"I doubt it. They're post-marked from London. That's an awful long way to go to make him cooperate. Besides, they're little girls. To go after them would be going much too far."

A nasty chuckle "You are too kind Haru."

Silence.

"I don't see anything else in here. Maybe we should check the old man's room."

Misao's mind was feeling fuzzy. Nothing was making any sense. She considered going in right then and confronting them, but then she thought of Haru's drawn blade.

But he wouldn't hurt her. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. The only way to go about this was demand the truth.

Just as she went to step through the doorway a hand, warm and soft, clamped down on her mouth. An arm circled around her waist. For a moment, the wind was knocked out of her and she wasn't sure what to do.

A familiar voice tickled her ear "Not smart Misao-chan. Together now."

The hand removed itself and Misao stood up straight, gasping a little. A hand found its way to the small of her back, sturdy and comforting. For a moment she reached around behind herself and gave the hand a good squeeze.

Aoshi returned the favor and she glanced back over her shoulder. His face was drawn and weary. She wondered how long he had been there. He always had been the best at going undetected.

Misao shook her head, and they stepped into the room together.

…o…..

"Ah! Here is the waif. He looks much better now! And he's with your woman! What did I tell you Haru? They were probably in her room the whole time."

"Hold your tongue!' Haru dropped the letters and glared at the man. The paper drifted down and landed on top of the two books. "Ah! Shinomori-san. You're looking well this morning. And Misao! Absolutely ravishing as usual."

"What are you doing in here Haru?" she tried to make her voice sound cold, but it only shook. Tears threatened again "What is all this mess?"

"Ah! Well. I came looking for Shinomori-san. When I discovered no one was home I came in to look for him. He's quite a slob I guess."

Misao noticed the bed roll was thrown aside too. A bouquet of roses was lying in the corner. It looked trampled. Her throat felt tight. Did Aoshi have a lover so soon, or had those been for her?

"You know that's not true Haru."

"Come now Misao, calm down." Aoshi spoke this time.

"Calm down?" She rounded on him "He came here to fight you!"

From the corner of her eye, she saw Haru stiffen "Misao, how long – "

"Long enough! I heard everything. Fighting him, taking revenge out on little girls – "

Aoshi's features hardened "That's not very much like a police officer, is it Haru? I would be sorely disappointed to hear what Misao's saying is true."

Haru's eyes flashed. "Misao does not know what she is saying. It would be best if she remained silent."

"As all women should be!" the stranger cut in and wove his way between the two men, like a snake "Come now gentlemen, let's not argue in here. Perhaps we should take it into the dojo. Have a little duel. That'll settle your tempers."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, eh Aoshi?" Haru hissed his words.

"Absolutely."

"And!" the stranger continued "As a prize the winner can have a kiss. At least if Shinomori-san here wins, you'll know whether or not he's been sleeping with her. A lover's kiss is always deeper."

Haru's smile took on a grim twist. "Well then, shall we Aoshi?"

"We shall."

Misao found tears streaming down her face faster and faster. How dare they! How dare the three of them talk about her like this, ignore her like she wasn't even there! And why did the other man keep insinuating such a terrible thing? She was Haru's fiancée! She would never ever actually betray him, no matter how strong her feelings for Aoshi were. It was beginning to seem though, that Haru had no qualms with betraying her, and that felt worse than anything.

The tranquil afternoon was spiraling into disaster. She wished for a moment that Okina were there. He had had plenty of experience calming down men whose tempers were flaring – nonsense spats were not allowed among the Oniwabanshu.

But here she was alone. Aoshi and Haru would surely kill each other.

And she could do nothing to stop it.

….o….

Haru and Aoshi took their places at each end of the dojo, inspecting their swords, giving one another glares over the glittering blades. Misao sat off to the side, a few feet away from the foul stranger. He was picking dirt from beneath his nails and watching her with a sideways gaze that made him look half cross-eyed.

"You know, little girl, I think your fiancé is in for a surprise. What will you do if Aoshi wins?"

She sniffed, and did not reply.

"Hmmph." He chuckled once and turned his gaze back to the two men "You know, I do not think that Haru will hesitate in killing your lover there. In fact – "

"He is _not_ my lover." Misao felt the words slip out, hard as chips of ice and filled with anger.

"Of course not. That's why his hand was on your ass when you walked into his room."

She felt her mouth fell open "It was not! How dare you even suggest –"

"I think your protesting speaks for itself. He's a good looking man, I couldn't blame you."

"Sir, you are overstepping your boundaries. Okina would not approve of such implications in his household." She tried to sound as haughty as possible.

The ringing of steel as it slid from its sheath drew both their attentions forward. The man laughed "Ah, now begins the real fun. My name is Imeki, by the way. And it is a pleasure to meet you my dear."

Misao was too intent to reply, watching Aoshi settle into an unfamiliar stance. Haru seemed chagrined and took a more familiar pose. Silence settled thick and heavy over the dojo.

"Misao, if you would do the honors?" Aoshi's voice was a rumble from deep in his chest. It made her heart flutter.

Sliding to her feet, she mused. The style Aoshi was intending to use was nothing she had ever seen before. And now that she was looking more closely, his sword was strange too. It curved wickedly, the blade widening and narrowing again along the curve of the steel. Symbols not of Japan or anywhere she knew littered the liquid silver blade.

"That sword has never seen blood Shinomori-san. I do hope you know what you're doing" Haru's words were harsh and clipped, as the sound of shoes clacking away upon wood

"It is new, yes. And I know perfectly well what I am doing."

"That style you are intending, it is theoretically wild. You wish to go against my own fluid style with a style best suited for chopping vegetables?"

Misao was even more confused. She raised one arm out and called "Ready?"

Both men seemed startled. They glanced at her and nodded as one.

Hand sideways, palm facing the door into the house, she took a deep breath, and swept it downwards.

Steel met steel, and the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Immediately there were grunts of exertion on Haru's part. Aoshi was silent, eyes narrowed and filled with inky hatred. The movements he made were anything but choppy, as Haru had suggested they would be. His style was more like a dance than anything – but not similar in any way to his favored sword dance. And it was highly effective. Misao found herself torn between laughter and worry as Haru's belt fell to the floor in several pieces. His trousers remained in tact, if not a little rumpled.

Panting, he fell back "That is not of Arabia, Shinomori-san, though the blade and the beginning stance are. I am curious to know what this strange style is called."

Aoshi wiped one sweaty palm on his leg "It does not have a name."

"Tell me at least what country it is from."

Aoshi smiled and Misao felt her breath catch in her throat. A smile! But it was not the kind she was looking for. This was a viperous and cruel curving of his lips that turned his face into the mask of a monster.

"Country? This style is not from a single country…it is pieced together out of techniques from around the globe. You will not see this anywhere else but in this dojo. Now, are you prepared to continue, or do you forfeit?"

Haru's brow furrowed, and he continued to gasp.

"DO YOU FORFEIT?"

Misao jumped at the sheer fury in the words as they spilled from within Aoshi. Haru's eye widened.

"N-no. Let us continue. Misao, dear?"

A small little worm of worry wiggled in her gut. Haru was being a bastard, and he had lied to her, but if Aoshi hurt him, she was not sure she could forgive him for a second time that day…

The swords rose, and her hand fell.

The room swirled with movement. Haru and Aoshi were mere blurs of color. Now and again, there was a wheeze filled with pain, and Misao was not sure who was making the noise.

Time oozed by and the world moved along. In the dojo, three people were trapped in a single instant.

Gradually, Misao realized that Imeki was gone. In his place, Okina, Ochika, and Emiko stood at the entrance to the dojo. The three women were slack jawed, hands to their mouths. Omasu looked the palest of all. In the middle of the floor, Aoshi and Haru had reached a stalemate. Blades both countering the each other, the men stood watching each other with cold, feline eyes.

There was silence. Okina was frowning.

Then in an instant, it was over. A flash of light as a sunbeam filtering through the roof of the dojo reflected on a slashing sword and blinded each spectator for an instant.

There was a shout of pain from Haru, and a little hiss from Aoshi. As the spots faded from in front of Misao's eyes, she clenched both fists.

Haru was on the floor, clutching his wrist, but not bleeding. A small bruise was rising on his chin, but otherwise, he looked unscathed.

Aoshi was upright, sword sheathed. His eyes were empty, devoid of anything. A deep crimson gash on his right cheek spilled blood slowly onto his collar.

"Well then!" Haru snarled from his place on the floor "Take your prize. Give her a kiss!"

Aoshi did not look at Misao. He stood as though unsure where to go or what to do. A moment later, he made up his mind. Bowing, he glanced at Okina, and left the dojo as swiftly as the racing shadow of a cloud.

…0….

Misao fussed over Haru for a moment. He would not meet her eyes and murmured apologies again and again until the other three women reached them and began fretting as well.

"Oh, it looks like that wrist is sprained. Let's go get some bandages and cool water." Omasu tsked.

Emiko patted him lightly on the head "You're lucky! I've seen him do ten times worse without even meaning too."

Worried, Misao met Haru's gaze.

"I'm fine." He muttered, getting to his feet, still avoiding her gaze. "But someone should check Shinomori-san. That cut looked nasty."

Omasu gave Misao a meaningful glance "I'll do it."

He shook his head "No, it's alright. Let Misao."

Misao felt everyone looking at her, including Okina. Her insides shriveled "Really Haru, I should help you – "

"Oh, don't be silly my little Misao. Go make sure he is alright."

She tossed the decision around her brain a little. His blessing of the action was hers. She could go to Aoshi now and not look like she was favoring him over Haru. After a few seconds consideration, she realized the decision was not so hard.

Giving Haru a peck on the cheek and a thankful look, she left the dojo. She dared not look back. She already knew exactly how many people would be watching.

….0…..

Aoshi was on his bed roll, legs folded. The room looked as though nothing had ever been touched by invading hands. Everything had returned to its rightful place as though by magic. Sliding the door shut behind her, she cleared her throat. The strange sword from the duel was leaning in a corner. It seemed innocuous there; more like a decoration than a weapon.

"Aoshi?"

His back was to her. He did not move.

"Aoshi, are you all right."

Nothing.

Swallowing, she took a step forward "Maybe you should let me take a look at that cut."

Silence reigned supreme. Outside, the birds were chattering as though the world were the same as it had been a half an hour ago. Inside the Aoiya though, the air sat heavy as cream, and something had definitely changed. Misao, moving to Aoshi's side and kneeling there, felt as though she were pushing through gauze curtains.

"Aoshi," she whispered his name once. His eyes fluttered behind their lids, but he did not move. Outside the room, Omasu, Ochika, Emiko, Okina and Haru passed by. They were making a great deal of noise as the headed towards the kitchen.

"Aoshi, please speak to me." She took his chin in one hand and turned his face to her.

His eyes opened languidly, and she saw they were brimming with something like tears.

"Oh – " she murmured "What is this?"

Taking one edge of her top, she wiped the blood that was covering his right cheek in a thin red sheen. Slowly, porcelain skin appeared again, revealed by Misao's gentle hands. The wound itself, though it looked awful, was already scabbing and healing.

Misao felt one of Aoshi's hands slide over her hip and come to a rest at her back. Confusion stirred her features, and she glanced down.

"I'm sorry." His words were like the whisper of the ocean in the dead of night.

She shook her head "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I am about to."

Things spiraled out of control. Aoshi's grip tightened on her waist. Her balance wavered, and she tumbled into the front of him. Before anything became clear, he was kissing her.

It was not chaste. With one hand still on her back, he reached up and grabbed a handful of her hair with the other. Thus ensnared, Misao gasped as his tongue danced past her bottom lip. His attention lingered on that lip just long enough for Misao to melt from tense to more-than-willing. She settled against him and he took that as permission. From there, the kiss went someplace much deeper.

All the while Misao wondered why Aoshi thought he had to apologize for something that felt so good.

Of course, it ended too soon. Aoshi pulled away and, for a moment, she felt breathless and wild. She laid her head against his chest and the steady sound of his heart calmed her beat by beat. Days might have passed before she moved if he had not pushed her gently away.

Misao half-fought him, clinging to his shoulders. She found herself looking at the floor and blushing when he finally succeeded in prying her loose.

"Go now." Aoshi muttered "Your fiancé is waiting. Think of that as your last little act of indiscretion. Don't tell Omasu though. She would be very angry."

Aoshi had gotten his prize after all. Still, the kiss had not felt so cheap as a prize. Nor had it felt like something stolen. It had felt right. Not only that, it had set something trembling deep in Misao's own heart. Still shaking, she felt the blossom of forgiveness begin to bloom. What it would mean for Haru, she couldn't yet say.

…o….

Later, Misao didn't remember getting to her feet and leaving Aoshi's room. She felt as though she were floating. Fingers to her lips, she let out a shuddering sigh.

It was only as she crossed the threshold of the kitchen and started to help Omasu bandage Haru's wrist that she began to feel deflated.

Aoshi's words danced between her ears "_Think of this as your last indiscretion…_"

He did not mean to kiss her ever again.


	12. Chapter 12: Formulating A Plan

**Chapter Twelve**

**Formulating a Plan**

The Aoiya seemed to slip into the complacency of a dream world after the duel. Aoshi did not go to Misao the night of the conflict. He did not even go to her for the next three nights after that.

Misao did not question him, and even went as far as to avoid him. Aoshi did much the same himself. Despite the kiss shared, an invisible boundary seemed to spring up between them in the days that followed. Like countries bordering one another, they acknowledged the division with silent acceptance. They stayed away from one another most of the time as though in order to prevent confrontation or, worse, another "indiscretion". They sat at the same table, and ate the same food, but neither would speak. Talking would only complicate what had become a simple understanding.

But Aoshi found he was growing more and more uneasy as the days passed. The whole of Aoiya was caught up in preparing for the wedding guests that would be arriving within the next few days – all of Himura and his friends. No one seemed to remember the duel, and Misao seemed to forget any reasons to hate Haru that Haru himself had given her.

Or at least she pretended to.

The couple looked happier than ever. Each day when Haru's shift at the police station ended, he would come and sit with Misao until long after dark. They would talk in hushed tones and offer one another gentle, intimate kisses.

Sometimes however, Aoshi caught her looking his way when she was sure no one else would see. More than once, her fingers would move to her lips. This both hurt him and made him glad in a way he could not explain. The emotions he felt were unfamiliar.

As the days passed slowly, he spent most of the time in his room, silent and thinking. He had ceased telling the story of his journey, and Misao had not come to him asking why. Now his thoughts turned to things other than the tragedies of the past. He found himself trying to find ways to stop Haru's plan, and make sure that Misao did not get caught up in anything that would put her in harms way.

The fact that the man from in the tea shop all those nights ago had gotten into the Aoiya and gone through his things made his skin crawl. What if he came after Misao, should Haru decide not to cooperate? It was becoming more and more clear that he needed to confide in someone – tell them all he had heard and get some help. At one time, he would have been too proud to even consider such actions, but now Misao-chan was involved, and he wanted to make sure there was nothing that could go wrong.

What he needed was a sound counterattack; a solid plan to stop Imeki's men and keep the shipment from being raided of its precious "princess". He needed to stop the wedding as well. (Though he found he was having doubts about this; doubts which made him uneasy very deep within himself. Since when had Shinomori Aoshi been one to let something so important go?)

But of course, he had some time. And after all, a good plan would take as much of that time forming as it wanted – and then some. Aoshi knew this from experience. As the days and hours passed, he mulled over all that he knew:

So this man that Haru was aiding was planning to rob a shipment coming through the docks the same night as Haru and Misao's wedding. Convenient, since a high ranking police officer would have every right to call his men away from an important post to take part in the wedding. Of course, in the tea shop the man had said that Haru's officers would only be pulled away for about a half an hour, so whatever part they were playing could not be an extremely important one.

Aoshi needed a plan that would not cause a stir. He needed to get into the warehouse where the theft would be taking place and deal with the men there. Based on everything else, he was assuming that the warehouse was close to where the wedding was. This meant that whatever he did to stop the men, it would have to be low-profile. If he caused a stir, the police at the wedding would be summoned, and Haru would know something had gone wrong.

And if Haru knew something had gone wrong, Aoshi had no doubt that he would relish in an excuse – even if a false one, made up on the spot – to have him arrested.

….o…..

Thunderstorms rolled into Kyoto the evening before Himura and the others were set to arrive at Aoiya. As night fell over the city, torrential rain turned the streets to mud, and lightening lit the sky. The bright flashes were tinged purple, casting everything in a gloomy glow. This night, Kyoto was a city filled with ghosts and memories – not the living. Ethereal phantoms of mist and wind rushed to and fro, into and out of sight. The living huddled in their homes, sleeping and shuddering their way through their dreams.

Aoshi was barely aware of the tempest outside. Deep in the basement of the Kyoto library, he was surrounded by shadows and a forest of shelves. He sat at a table lit by a single, flickering candle. Before him, an endless sea of maps, books and scrolls spilled over the edges and onto chairs. Each chair was stacked high.

Except for one. Across the table, skimming a heavy tome, sat Shiro.

Shiro looked weary and was resting his head on one hand. As he turned a page, he looked up at Aoshi, eyelids half hiding his eyes.

"Why are we here again?"

For a moment, Aoshi did not answer him. He was a different sight to behold. Disheveled, eyes filled with fire, he was nearly as pale and gaunt as when he had stepped off the boat two weeks before. When he finally looked up across the table and spoke, Shiro had to suppress a cry of surprise.

"We're planning a counterattack and gathering information."

Shiro regarded him incredulously. "A counterattack?"

He replied distractedly, and with a finality that implied he would not be giving him any further explanation. "Yes."

"But how am I supposed to be helping plan if I don't even know what I'm planning a counterattack against!"

"I told you," Aoshi made a small red mark on a map before him "Just look through those books I gave you and try to find _something_ about a princess."

Shiro raised an eyebrow and glanced at the chair beside him. Twenty large texts rested there. "These are all about gems, and artifacts, and jewelry."

"It will be in one of them. I know it will."

"And if it isn't?"

"Then we shall have some spying to do tonight."

A particularly loud clap of thunder made the building shake, and Shiro jump. As the last ripples of sound faded away, he looked across the waves of paper "Come now, you can't be serious."

"I suggest," Aoshi muttered dryly "that you start reading."

….o…..

Silence returned, and hours passed. In the world above, the clock chimed three in the morning before either of the men spoke again. There was only the shuffling of papers. Maps were passed back and forth. Two more candles were lit. Aoshi offered Shiro a cigarette around midnight. The only break they had lasted the time it took the both of them to have a smoke while they got up and browsed the shelves nearby.

Aoshi felt hopelessness and exhaustion setting in. Had he eaten that day? He couldn't remember. Everything over the past week had been a blur. He had wracked his brain trying to remember every little detail of the night at the tea shop. Now, he couldn't remember a time when he had felt so tired. Long days and late nights were not a good combination.

And it did not help that Aoiya was practically in shambles with all the preparations going on. Just when he though there would be a quiet moment, Omasu would appear at the door and demand he help her hang linens on the line to dry. Sometimes Ochika would appear as the distraction, asking him to go upstairs and move some item of furniture from one room to another. Misao had even appeared once, that very afternoon. She had thrust money into his hand and muttered that he needed to go to the market and buy fresh cut blossoms for in every room.

The night before last, everyone had been in bed, sleeping soundly (or so he had thought). As he was sitting down to meditate, there came a knock on the frame of the sliding panel that led from his room out to small yard in back of the house. Opening it with a measure of trepidation, he found a grinning Hiko on the other side.

Startled, he barely managed to ask what the master swordsman was doing there.

He was there to see Ochika, of course.

"You're at the wrong part of the house then."

"Ah! Well then. I guess I had better find the right part."

Aoshi muttered a good bye, shut the door, and settled back down on the floor.

Just as he felt his eyelids beginning to droop, there was a loud cry.

Hiko had gone to the wrong place again, and Omasu was letting him know beyond the shadow of a doubt.

…o…

"Ah! I found something!"

Aoshi sat up so quickly that his chair nearly tipped over. Where was he? The library. Had he been sleeping? He must have. Feeling dazed, he tried to look as though he had been awake the whole time.

"I found something!" Shiro repeated and was unable to contain the excitement in his voice.

"What? What is it?"

"Here. Look on page sixty-seven, about half way down."

Aoshi stretched and tried to wake himself up before he reached across to take the book his friend was shoving at him. He was startled by how light it was, and was pleasantly surprised when he realized that it was the same book he had noticed in Haru's office – the one that had been askew on the otherwise immaculate shelves.

He was more disappointed to find that the information the book provided was basic. For something that was causing such a fuss, he had expected pages and pages. What was before him was no longer than a couple hundred words.

With a disheartened sigh, he began to read aloud:

"_The Princess of the Adriatic is a priceless pearl of unparalleled beauty. It has been worn by real life princesses and has been passed between royal families of the European continent since its discovery (1504). It has seen ballrooms and coronations, weddings and funerals._

_"The Princess is currently considered one of the most valuable and coveted objects in the world. It is also one of the most mysterious. Though a pearl of the purest white, in clear light it has been known to take on an opal sheen. The center of countless scandals and conspiracies, it is said to bring both sorrow and joy in its wake. There are legends abound. Reportedly, the fisherman who fetched it from beneath the sea died as he surfaced with it in his palm. In a separate case, a barren Countess of Austria gave birth to a child nine months after wearing it. _

_"Currently, the Princess' whereabouts are unknown, but it is thought that the Tsar of Russia purchased it from England in 1857 for the price of £1,000,000. More than likely it is still trading hands amongst families of power and influence around the globe…"_

Aoshi trailed off, disappointed. He let the book come to a rest on the surface of the table. So this was what Haru was looking for. It came as no surprise. Of course the officer would have set his sights high – one million British pounds was quite a sum of money – otherwise he wouldn't waste his time dealing with the likes of Imeki and his men. How he had managed to track the whereabouts of the pearl was beyond Aoshi however, unless the ship it was coming in on had anything to do with the man's businessman father.

But none of that really mattered. The shipment that the Princess was coming in on was certainly bound for the palace, and the Emperor. Its theft would cause quite a stir. The other jewels and gold coming with it would be nothing to sneer at either…and someone would have to be blamed for taking such a great deal of treasure. Who _was_ Haru planning on incriminating, Aoshi wondered? An irrational part of him hissed that _he _would be to blame.

His head still felt fuzzy with sleep. He stared at the book for a long time only to be surprised by a yawn. The heels of his palms soon found themselves buried against his eyes. A pearl. A pearl. A pearl. Why would Haru want it? For his new bride? To sell on the black market? Because of its fabled magical properties? For ransom? And even if it was all that Haru was after, he didn't seem like the type of man to go on a hunt for something that was spoken about in one book, one page, for three paragraphs. Haru was a bastard, but not stupid.

Then again, neither was Imeki. The little man was certainly not planning on handing everything over to Haru. So what _was _the relationship between the two? Aoshi could not see them working together casually, and neither was the type to step down before authority. More than likely they were dancing intricately around one another, making cautious jabbing stabs. At the right moment, the man in the right position would certainly stab the other in the back. When it came to thieves, sharing was not something that one heard of.

If Haru were the one to lose the battle of wits, then Misao might be caught in the crossfire. That was unacceptable.

"Aoshi-dono?" Shiro's voice came suddenly, as a whisper, and close to his ear.

"Yes Shiro."

"Someone is upstairs."

Aoshi pulled himself from his thoughtful stupor and blinked once, looking to his friend.

In the half-light, Shiro seemed as a spirit, pale skin gleaming with a light partly its own. Eyes hooded and ringed in purple, there was a smile dancing in them nonetheless. A small curving of his lips, and they parted with another whisper. "Shall we go?"

Aoshi felt Shiro's tense excitement, and it was catching. Adrenaline filled his veins and he felt a small burst of lucid wakefulness. Offering the man a ghost of a smile himself, the ex-okashira was on his feet. His coat snapping forward, the candle went out with a thin snake of smoke.

And then the room was empty.

Almost.

Like tigers, they moved through aisles of books, breathing hushed and feet barely touching the ground. They belonged more to the world of shadows than to the real world that was around them. The darkness felt like home. Each movement they made was calculated and precise enough to create no sound; this was why they had been the famed warriors who protected Edo castle. Against them, none but the gods could triumph.  
It was mere seconds before they reached the stairs. Pausing, Aoshi held up a hand as Shiro emerged behind him. There was only silence. Whoever was walking around above was nowhere near the staircase.

The way was safe. For now.

Aoshi didn't remember much past that point and until they exited through the library's back doors and ended up in the streets, bathed with moonlight. He knew that Shiro had led them out, but other than that there was nothing. He had turned himself over to stealth completely; to thoughts of controlling his breathing, where he was going to place each next step, and the distance between him and other objects in the room.

Slowly, he shook himself out of his trance.

Shiro was beside him, bent over and panting a little, but grinning "Do you know how long it's been since I've had to sneak around like that? I'm more than a little out of shape, that's for sure."

"You didn't seem like it though."

"Once an Onmitsu, always an Onmitsu."

Both men nodded graced each other with a respectful nod.

"Well then, are you going to tell me what this was all about?" Shiro stood up straight and looked to Aoshi.

Aoshi sighed "I do not wish to give you any burden, but I suppose that you should know."

"It doesn't have anything to do with Misao, does it?"

Aoshi was startled. When….how had….was he so transparent? When had he ever mentioned Misao? He was sure that he hadn't.

Shiro was smiling, albeit grimly. "The look on your face betrays all, Okashira."

"That is not my title."

"It will always be your title, Aoshi. For as long as you are able."

Both men fell silent. When Aoshi spoke again, his whisper was shadowed by a growl of thunder.

"It has to do with Haru, to be perfectly honest."

To his surprise, Shiro laughed. "Really, Aoshi? I wondered when this would start.

"I am quite serious. I fear he's up to no good."

Under the lash of Aoshi's tone, Shiro sobered. "What do you think he's up to?"

"It is what I know he is up to. He plans to use the wedding as a cover. A ship filled with treasure, including the Princess of the Adriatic will be coming into port the same night as the wedding. Haru's men are those on duty at the warehouse where the treasures will be unloaded. He is going to call his men away on the pretense of attending the ceremony. That way, his friends may come in and take the Princess and whatever else strikes their fancy."

"Haru?"

"Yes."

The revelation unsettled Shiro to a startling degree. He did his best to adjust. "H-how much do we know about his friends?"

"Only that they're headed by a man name Imeki."

Shiro smiled "I still have a few connections in the underground. Perhaps I can ask around about him."

"That would be helpful."

"Phew. I still can't believe it. Haru Namataga? Really?"

"I would not lie to you."

Shiro know it was the truth. Despite the nerves knotting in his stomach, he gave a shaky grin. "Will we be meeting here again? I'll have to warn Sakura that I'll be out late. She was a…little unhappy."

"Not here, no." Aoshi glanced upwards. A sudden movement in one of the windows caught his eye. They should have left right away and not lingered "I will give you a days notice next time."

Aoshi grunted once and started away "I'll be contacting you."

Shiro muttered "I'll be waiting."

"Good." Aoshi's voice drifted back over his shoulder as the night swallowed him.

For a long moment, Shiro stood alone, watching his friend's back fade away, then with a weary sigh, he too began to make his way home. Unbeknownst to either man, someone was watching from the highest floor of the library.

One hand on the windowsill, the other at the sword at his side, Haru's face twisted into a snarl.

He would have to speak with Imeki. He would not be pleased, but perhaps now something could be done about Shinomori Aoshi. After all, the ex-okashira was finding out far too much. And Haru knew now that he was no match for a shadow.

….0…..

The night was filled with silvery mist. Far above, dark clouds like tatters of cloth raced across the moonlight-hazed stars. The storms were gone away, stacked in the east and still laced with lightning. Their dark shapes, towering into the pearlescent atmosphere, were visible from where Aoshi stood on the porch of the Aoiya, one hand on the door into the kitchen.

But there was no time to enjoy the otherworldly view. Exhaustion making his limbs heavy, he took a deep breath before using the last of the strength he had to slip inside.  
He was met halfway through by Misao who, holding a small porcelain cup of tea, looked just as thrown off as he felt. She was mere inches away, and had been heading in the opposite direction – outside.

"O-oh! Aoshi!" She stammered "You're all wet."

Aoshi found himself struggling for a reply. Her unexpected closeness brought the inklings of need to life deep in his chest. He had a great deal of trouble focusing on anything other than that. _Was_ he wet? Of course he was! It had started raining again just after he was out of sight of the library and he had taken his own time in getting back. The storms had just been swept away less than three quarters of an hour before, as if in anticipation of the dawn. He really hadn't noticed how much rain had soaked into his clothing before that – he was too busy thinking about other things.

Looking down at her, as she stood there in her nightclothes with her hair in glorious disarray, he was suddenly painfully aware of his own messy state.

Misao twisted one foot beneath herself, bit her lip and looked to the floor. Aoshi was pulled from his dazed state by the sudden motion.

He offered the first words that came to his mind "It was raining."

"Apparently." She peered past him and into the swiftly fading night. The storms on the horizon growled as if for the sake of corroboration. "Well, this won't do. Come on, get inside."

This kitchen was warm and filled with a golden glow from the stove. A pot of water had been pulled off and set on a small table, where steam still seeped from the spout. There was the slightest scent of tea leaves in the air. Pale light played on the sill of the window and spilled onto a small square on the floor.

It felt like home.

Aoshi would have tarried there until he fell into sleep, or until the sun finally rose, but Misao was thinking otherwise.

Silent, she ushered him out into the hall and over to the dining area. With whispered promises of a swift return, she was gone, floating out the door along with the smell of honey soap and cherry blossoms.

A single candle was lit on the table, and it cast eerie shadows along the paper screens. The house was morning-laden and quiet. His ears rang with it. Alone in the semi-dark, he tried to still his heart. Where had she gone?

Misao did not leave him in agony for long. In a moment, she entered and slid the door shut behind her. Under one arm was a towel and a blanket. With her free hand she was balancing a tray. Upon it sat the kettle from in the kitchen and two cups: an empty one and her own. She set the tray down with movements both graceful and effortless. It was only once she was sure all had been set to rights that she went to him.

Aoshi started to stand, but she gave him a stern look that told him he had better stay put.

Without a word, she stood behind him, draping the blanket about his shoulders. He gathered it about himself and muttered a thank you. Her reply was brief.

"It's nothing. Stay still."

He obeyed, and much to his surprise and secret delight, she began to dry his hair. She worked the towel over his head. When she was happy with how dry it had become, she discarded the towel and ran her fingers through his hair as she began to speak.

"And where might you have gone, Shinomori Aoshi?" her voice was soft, chiding, and low.

He shivered once and opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"Someplace important no doubt. You don't go out drinking, or to other places of entertainment." He noted a faint trace of weariness in her voice "But I suppose you don't have to answer. It's none of my business."

Aoshi felt her kneel behind him, still working her fingers through knots and tangles.

"You know, I would still like very much to hear your story. I wish to know about India and Arabia and all those other lands you've seen. And want to know what happened to the little girls…"

Even through all the clothing between them, he could feel her heart fluttering inside its bone and marrow cage.

For a moment, the air was thick and heavy as cream. Her voice seemed very far away as she whispered "I had hoped to hear the end."

Aoshi thought he might float away. With a fair amount of effort, he managed to keep his voice even and face straight "I have no objection."

Misao let out a long sigh that brushed against the back of his neck and stood to go around the table. As she began to pour tea his cup, she smiled "I am glad."

Everything fell back into silence. Misao passed him his tea. They ignored one another and drank without speaking.

The night was swiftly morphing into dawn. Steely gray morning light began to seep through the paper screens, shedding an eerie light on the dining room. Crickets quieted and gave way to the chatter of birds. Through these tiny miracles, life and the sun began to return to the damp streets of Kyoto.

Inside the Aoiya, Aoshi finished his tea. His eyes were grainy and his mind growing dull. It was most definitely time for him to get some sleep. A thought occurred to him, and he mused gloomily on the fact that Omasu would no doubt be fetching him within the next two hours and ordering him around as though he had had a full nights rest.

Setting down his tea cup with a light clink, he rose with the slightest of sounds. Misao looked up surprised and went to stand up as well. But Aoshi was too swift. He lay a hand on her should as he passed and pressed her down.

"Stay. You have not finished."

She looked down at the last few sips of tea that rest in her cup, and gave in grudgingly.

Aoshi left a breeze behind him as he swept out into the hall. Misao let it surround her before it settled to the floor and passed away. She thought of following him – there was so much to say…

But when she finally got up the nerve minutes later and opened his door quietly as possible, she found him sleeping. One hand clutched his blankets. With a small smile, she shut the door softly. She would have to find an excuse to keep Omasu away, and then wake him herself so that he had enough time to prepare for the arrival of Himura and the others.

She left never knowing that there was an intruder.

Outside, a lone figure climbed over the wall surrounding the Aoiya. Clothed in green, face hidden by a mask, he crept around the bath house and through the rose bushes.

He found the door he was looking for easily. The Aoiya was shaped like an L, with a dojo sticking off the bottom. He was looking for the second outside door on the short arm of the L's inside corner.

It was there, open a crack. Inside, he could see the ex-okashira sleeping soundly.

He wanted to kill him.

There, then. It might even be possible if he could catch him off guard.

But those were not his orders.

Stealthily, he slipped onto the porch and pulled his dagger free from his belt, then a sheet of paper from his pocket. He unfolded it and pinned it to the bamboo door frame without making a sound. Grinning, he left as he had come.

When Shinomori Aoshi woke he would find the message written in red ink on his door frame.

And with any luck, he would be afraid.


	13. Chapter 13: Wedding Guests

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Wedding Guests**

At exactly noon, Kenshin was the first of the guests inside the Aoiya. He had just made it into the door when he was attacked. Omasu, Ochika and Misao fussed over him, crooning that his journey must have been a long one, and how glad they were that he was finally there.

Okina stood in the background, beside Aoshi, chuckling.

"Well Himura, I should bring you along next time I go out, if that's the reaction we'll get."

"Misao-dono, please, this one is having trouble breathing."  
"Yes, and I would be very displeased if he were to stop doing so altogether."

"Kaoru!"

The Aoiya was filled with excited chatter, hugs and laughter. The floors were swept and scrubbed to sparkling. Every room was filled with fresh cut blossoms and sunlight. A welcoming snack was waiting in the kitchen. Days of preparation had finally come to a worthwhile conclusion.

Once travel things thrown aside in the dojo, it did not take long for everyone to make their way outside. Omasu carried a tray laden with little sweets that she had made the day before. Ochika bore a second tray with drinks – plenty of tea and sake, and the rare treat of coffee, to go around. Misao tried desperately to help but was rebuffed by everyone present. They were all here to celebrate her happiness after all!

It was nearly too warm in the sun: a clear sign that summer was well on its way. The rains from the night before made the air muggy and heavy. Sitting shaded from the sun, and delighting in Ochika's garden (which had come to the high point of its bloom), the women fanned themselves. The men, including Yahiko, shared a smoke that was courtesy of Aoshi, and listened absentmindedly to the animated prattling of the girls.

"He is so perfect!" Misao twittered, playing a game of patty-cake with Kenji. Kaoru looked on, pleased that her child was the center of so much attention.

"Just think Misao, maybe you'll have some kids of your own soon." Tsubame was most awed out of all of them by the prospect of the impending marriage and all it entailed.

Misao's eyes grew round and she gave a wistful smile "Oh! I can barely wait."

"And I'm sure Haru cannot either." Megumi grinned and winked once.

"Megumi-san!" Omasu looked horrified, and Tsubame blushed fiercely, but the others simply giggled.

"Now Misao," Tae spoke with a matter of fact tone, "Kaoru tells me that you rave about how handsome this Haru is in all your letters. You haven't said a word about him. Come on! Spill the beans!"

Leaning forward, the women were soon lost in Misao's vivid description. Only Kaoru sent a wary glance in Aoshi's direction. It was a gesture that was not lost on Kenshin. He swooped into action on the other side of the porch. He used a tact that was most uncharacteristic of him in pleasant conversation.

"Aoshi-dono, the Aoiya is much smaller than this one remembers."

The other men seemed glad for the distraction, and turned to listen to the ex-okashira's answer.

Aoshi shifted his attention, but it was a half-hearted effort. Even as he answered his eyes remained on the women, and Misao in particular. "Indeed. I was away. The Aoiya Inn had been mine to care for, and when it was clear I would not be returning soon, it was deemed prudent to sell much of the property it was situated on."

Okina nodded and stepped in. He had noted Aoshi's distraction and he knew details that ex-Okashira did not. He glanced once at the women who were still pressed around Misao then guided the men off the porch and into the yard where he could better demonstrate the changes that had taken place since the others had last been in Kyoto.

Coming to a place in the middle of the garden, the men listened as he spoke.

"We sold about three quarters of the land and about the same amount of the Aoiya. Only a few rooms were demolished so that much of the building that we sold was still in tact and so that we could put a fence between the two structures."

"It took a lot of work, I'm sure." This was from Sanosuke.

"It did. Several months in fact. In the end, the building we had sold was turned into rooms for families to board in. It's run by a local man, very astute. The rest of course, we kept and still rent out during the late summer through early winter."

"And how many rooms do you have now?"

"Well, there are five used by us on the ground floor as well as three that are kept vacant for visitors we know, such as you. Upstairs there are ten rooms for guests and boarders. We have a lot of sightseers from Tokyo and abroad."

"That is excellent, Okina-dono. But tell this one –" Kenshin smiled and redirected his attention " – Aoshi-dono, you mentioned that you were away? We met in Tokyo for a time, that we did. That did not have anything to do with your trip, did it?" at this, the Rurouni's eyes flashed once.

"It did." Aoshi felt cornered suddenly.

"Ah. And did things end well?"

"Not so well as I had hoped when we last spoke."

For a moment Kenshin's face betrayed disappointment and even sadness. "This one is sorry for that. And where are the treasures that were to be hidden should tragedy strike?"

Aoshi tilted his head, surprised that swordsman remembered "Safe, with a friend."

He smiled, "That is good news then, at least!"

The two men slowly became aware that Okina, Sano and Yahiko were staring. Yahiko seemed most confused.

"Heh," Kenshin brought a hand to the back of his neck. "Okina! Whose lovely tulips are these?"

Back on the porch the women had moved on to the subject of kimono.

"Omasu won't let me see the red one. Not until the day of the wedding," Misao pouted.

Omasu wasted no time in retorting. "Well, won't it seem so much more beautiful after the wait?"

"What if it turns out I don't like it? Then I won't be able to make you fix it."

"It's fine! Why would you not like it?"

"Well you never know! It could be awful."

This earned both snickers, and a glare.

"My Aunt did the same thing to Sae when she got married." Tae sighed and rested her chin in her hand "The kimono it turned out, was actually orange. Sae never forgave her."

"You know what happened at Kaoru's wedding?"

As Megumi spoke, Kaoru paled.

"It was a small affair really, nothing to be excited about. There was just a short ceremony at the temple with Yahiko and I present. Anyway, when everything was over we went to the Akabeko for a big dinner with Tae and Tsubame. I'll never forget: Kaoru trip right down the stairs and the way out of the temple!"

The men still standing in the yard looked up, surprised at the sudden roar of laughter that drifted to them from the porch. Sano shook his head. He turned back to Okina after a moment of gawping, and continued the story he had begun telling about his first day at the mainland. Kenshin however, had his mind on other things.

Since Okina had begun talking about the selling of the Aoiya, Aoshi had fallen silent, and watched the front gate as though he expected someone particularly evil to show up at any moment. This was not lost of the once-manslayer.

The ex-okashira looked tortured and half-starved. He held himself with his shoulders hunched forward, as though in constant physical pain. What could cause a warrior such as him, one who had once purged himself of all emotion, to appear so distraught and wan? Certainly, Kenshin thought wryly, it could not be _love._

But it must have been, and he understood the situation as perfectly as though he were Aoshi himself. As the city clock struck three a strange man appeared at the gate and shouted a greeting to Misao, who cried out a happy reply, falling over herself with apparent glee.

For half of a second, Aoshi's top lip pulled back in a grimace that disappeared almost as soon as it had come. He replaced it with a sullen stare. When Misao threw her arms around Haru's neck and gave him a fierce kiss, color graced Aoshi's ashen cheeks.

Kenshin knew for sure then. It was most definitely love.

He also knew that something was wrong with this fiancée of Misao's, and understood that the agitation he felt regarding him was part of what was irking Aoshi. This man had all the peacock strut of the typical police officer with too much of a swagger. His smile, which looked genuine, was flat and lacked real feeling. The grip he had around Misao's waist was strong, and while it was loving, it was also possessive.

While everyone new at the Aoiya rushed over to meet Haru, Kenshin had hung back beside Aoshi. Feeling a little disgusted by the entire display himself, he muttered "a friend of yours Aoshi-dono?"

"The best of friends, I assure you." Aoshi ground out.

"Would you care to confide in this one?"

"I would. You seem to be the only one within all of Kyoto who does not adore him."

"Okina-dono does not feel the awkward chi about him?"

"He sometimes appears ill at ease. But he is getting old, Himura."

A brief quiet fell between them.

"You did not call this one by the name of Battousai."

"Did you wish me too?"

Kenshin smiled at this and nodded his head once "No. And thank you."

"It is nothing."

"Well then, we certainly appear to be rude. Shall we go over and say hello?"

"If we must."

The sun rose to its apex and began to slip downward again as the friends laughed and told stories. The two men remained silent. Warriors from another age, they were used to waiting patiently. Both kept half a mind on Haru, and half on conversation. As evening approached and Okina suggested a tour of the Aoiya within so that the guests could be shown their rooms and unpack, Haru finally said his farewell. Kenshin and Aoshi were able to relax. Kaoru could not help by notice that this coincided with the groom's departure.

With a tiny sigh of concern, she decided that it was time she and Misao had a private conversation.

Misao found herself confronted by two people that night once everyone had settled in and the lamps were winking out all over Aoiya. It was already reaching the wee hours of the morning, and the women were exhausted. The men, who had spent the hours after dinner in the dojo and then out on the porch smoking and drinking, were sake sodden.

All but one of course.

Misao was holding her nightclothes together at the neck and running a comb through her hair with her free hand when a loud knocking came at her door. Surprised, she dropped the comb and hastily fastened her robe. She had been relishing in her first moments alone that day, but was not displeased to hear she had a visitor.

"O-oh! One moment!"

The person outside hesitated, and she took the chance to rush to the door, hair fluttering behind her. Cursing, she tried to pat it down and looked up just in time to see Aoshi's face in the small crack that appeared as he gave the door a gentle push.

"Misao, I need to come in."

Somewhere above, a child laughed; little Kenji. Outside, the crickets chorused with one another. In the next room, Megumi and Ochika giggled, more than likely at some private joke about Hiko. It was all nothing compared to the roaring that had suddenly and totally filled the space between her ears.

"A – all right."

Aoshi entered and closed the door behind him. He did not look at her, but instead strode across the room and kneeled before the fusuma leading onto the porch.

"A-Aoshi, whatever is wrong?" His abruptness was startling. A frown crept over her features, and the fluttering of her heart in her chest slowed, confusion quieting the nerves that had leapt at the sight of him.

Aoshi did not answer her, but instead, pulled a small stone from what seemed to be midair. With a straining of the muscles in his arms, and a groaning creak from the wooden track, he popped it down beneath the first well oiled iron wheel of the door. He stood then, and tried to wrench it open.

It did not move.

"What are you doing?" She felt ignored – and rather annoyed by his sudden intrusion and bizarre behavior, she crossed her arms.

"Protecting you." Aoshi's was distracted. He murmured his answer and tried to pull the door open in another way. It did not budge. He continued his inspection in this way as though she was not present.

Anger bristled unbridled inside of her. It was the first time in years she allowed it to fill her so entirely. She had not felt this much like her old self since she had met Haru. Glad to have it back, she let it feed on itself. "Shinomori Aoshi, I swear, if you don't explain yourself right now I'll lay a kick on you so hard, you'll land in Tokyo. And then I'll make sure you never walk again I'll knee you so hard in the – "

"Little Misao, I'd like to see you try." Aoshi glanced over his shoulder. He was not smiling, but his eyes were sparkling.

Misao felt her jaw fall open. Uncrossed her arms, she growled "Little? I ought to – "

"What? Call me a name?"

Misao knew deep in her heart that he was being playful. That in itself surprised her. Playful Aoshi was an oxymoron of the strictest standards. But it was her own actions that all out shocked her next. Taking a deep breath and trying to remember exactly how she used to do that silly "bird kick of fury", she launched herself at the ex-okashira.

Naturally, it was a complete disaster. Aoshi turned faster than she could blink and caught her foot with ease. Arms waving comically, she thought that she felt her robe coming open. Aoshi though the same thing at the same moment, eyes widening a little, and a few seconds later they were both in a heap.

One hand clamping her loosened robe shut, she screamed at him. Aoshi, deftly avoided all her slaps, but failed to regain his composure and get himself free.

Then all at once Misao, barely aware of what she was doing, grabbed his collar and started to pull him towards her just as he managed to get halfway up. His mouth nearly met hers and –

"Misao, I was just wonderin – oh! Am I interrupting something?"

Misao felt her breathing stop, and she thought she noticed a hint of amusement still in Aoshi's eyes. She let go of him and pushed him away, feeling ashamed.

"Ge'off me ya jerk!"

Kaoru stood in the doorway, smirking. She hardly seemed surprised at all. Placing one hand on her hip, she shrugged "I can leave if you want to continue."

"Continue what? There's nothing to continue." Misao, shook with alarm and fury. What had she just done? What had she been thinking? What about Haru?

Aoshi was far less upset. Getting to his feet and brushing himself off, he muttered with typical Aoshi aplomb. "Indeed. I believe I found the bug in her hair." Repeating the trick with the stone, he revealed a cricket that seemed to have miraculously appeared from midair. Inclining his head in the direction of Kaoru, he ducked out of the room and was gone.

"It's not what you think!" Misao snapped, as soon as she was sure he was out of earshot.

"He wasn't getting a bug out of your hair?"

She blushed fiercely "N-no! I mean yes he was, but no he –"

Kaoru gave her a serene and knowing look "Perhaps we should go for a walk."

"Er, yes. I – we'll have to use the kitchen door. Mine is –broken."

"That's no problem."

And so Misao was confronted by the second person of the evening.

….0….

"You love Aoshi more."

The stars were shining above, cold pinpoints of light. A cool breeze rustled through the leaves of the rosebushes in the garden. It carried the sour-sweet smell of the river and the heavy scent of the rotting cherry blossoms. As quick as the trees had gained their pink coats, they were shedding them beneath the fading moon. Misao was so busy thinking of their disappearance until next spring that she barely noticed her friend had spoken to her.

"W-what? I love him more than what?"

"More than your fiancée."

"No! I love Aoshi, no doubt. I mean, he practically raised me. Yes, maybe I had a little bit of a childish fascination with him before, but Haru – "

She noticed Kaoru's stern gaze, and stopped talking.

For a long time, they walked in silence.

"You know Misao, I always knew I loved Kenshin. From the very moment I first saw him."

"I thought you beat him up the first time you saw him." Misao muttered.

"Well, yes," she laughed. "I did. But then within moments, he changed my mind. Even as I grew angrier and angrier with him, I couldn't help but notice a few things. The way he spoke and the way the skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled. Even then I felt a little something."

Misao was doubtful.

"It's true. You always can tell where your heart truly lies."

"I love Haru." Misao clenched her teeth. "He may be a bastard sometimes, but every man is. And you can't tell me that Aoshi's never done anything horrible. Remember when he almost killed Okina? He told me he never wanted to see me again."

Even as she spoke about that day so many years ago, she felt a chill run up her spine. It was the remnants of that same loss. Turning away, she hid the tears that sprang to her eyes.

"Haru has _never_ said anything like that to me."

Kaoru was not unsympathetic. She placed a hand on the younger girl's shoulder and leaned close "But Misao, when Kenshin fought him in Shishio's lair, it was with your name that he brought Aoshi back from the darkness. I have been told so."

Her words fell upon the air and lay still, echoing in Misao's ears. She wiped one tear away and let out a shuddering gasp "B-but Haru is my fiancée. He is kind to me and always loving, sympathetic a-and smiling." The last word seemed to pull a fresh batch of sobs from deep within her.

Kaoru stood beside her, feeling awkward for the first time.

"He has never left. His family is of a good class, and this way the Aoiya will always be safe. Okina will never have to go without care in his old age. Omasu and Ochika need not worry for their futures. They deserve comfort and happiness and – "

"What about you Misao, don't you deserve anything?"

"Haru is good to me. I would not want for a single thing as his wife. I would live in one of the greatest houses in all of Kyoto."

"But that is material Misao, not love."

"But he does love me!" Misao heard herself shout, and lowered her tone before speaking again. "Why are you doing this Kaoru? Why are you making me question things? I had everything sorted out before Aoshi appeared, and before you came to pester me! The wedding was planned, I was glad to have Haru as my husband, and I was glad to be marrying so well. In this era do you know how many girls with a past like mine manage to marry so well in all aspects? Not very many! Most of the daughters of warriors from the Bakumatsu have ended up in brothels or worse. I am going to be the wife of the heir to a large company, and I wouldn't have had a second thought about it if it weren't for all that is happening! I would have been happy!"

Kaoru, who had grown quiet, spoke. "That is the thing, Misao. You would not be happy. As your friend, I only wish to make sure you are content."

Mustering all the nastiness she could find inside of herself, she snarled "I do not want your help, Kaoru. My mind is already befuddled enough."

Kaoru was hurt, and with a little frown she turned away from the younger girl and began to stalk towards the house. "You should not be so rude Misao. It is not becoming of you."

Before Misao managed to turn and retaliate, there was a loud slam, and Kaoru disappeared into the Aoiya.

Feeling numb and shaken, Misao brought her hands before her eyes and collapsed against the trunk of the cherry tree. Sometime during their argument, they had ended up beneath its fragrant boughs.

Digging her fingers into the rough bark and drawing her legs up, she buried her face in her knees and began to sob. She tried to empty her mind and not to think, but every bit of her was fraught with grief. She found it quite impossible. Memories of Aoshi and Haru alike, their respective treatment of her and their displays of affection raced through her mind until sleep began to dig its gummy fingers into her.

Hysterics fading to gasping breaths and whimpers, she fought against the forced trying to pull her into blessed oblivion. It was only after nearly a half an hour of fighting against exhaustion that she managed to get control of herself.

Just in time to hear one of the doors around the back of the house clatter open. When she finally managed to stumble to her feet and make her way around the corner of the Aoiya, she found Aoshi on the porch, eyes ghastly and vacant.

As his gaze fell over her, a little bit of humanity seeped back into them.


	14. Chapter 14: Of Banbibi and a Pocketbook

Authors Note: FOR THOSE FAINT AT HEART, THIS CHAPTER MAY BE TRYING! Just so you know…

^_^ I thought it would be fun here to delve into Aoshi's childhood. Really. How much do we know about him? Forgive me if there IS something explicitly explained related Aoshi's childhood included in the series…I haven't had time to read them since last summer, and a lot has been forced on my brain since then.

****The names Esthappan and Ammu are taken from the novel "The God of Small Things" by Arundhati Roy. Had to read it for my world lit class and LOATHED it. Figured I'd better try and get SOMETHING out of it – hence the use of her characters' names. (Though I must admit I found her use of language F-AMAZING! I just thought the plotline was useless and bizarre.)

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Of Banbibi and a Pocketbook**

Aoshi let his eyes trace the words of the letter again. The parchment, thin and yellowed, was lighter than a fall leaf. It glowed golden in the candlelight. Hugging his limbs closer and keeping the cup of tea in one hand to feel its warmth, he sighed.

_"It would be a shame, if anything were to happen to Misao. Unfortunately, I fear it may should you continue to pry into the business of Haru Namataga. I could have slit your throat and hers in hardly a moment, but that aforementioned gentleman has staid my hand with a generous amount of money. I have been waiting for such an opportunity to harm you for years now Aoshi-chan. Alas, Haru only asked me to watch you closely, and I must assure you that I would have gone ahead and killed your darling already had he not paled at the idea. The weakling loves Misao dearly. Pity. For I know it would have all but killed you to see her dead._

_As yet, I may have to ignore my employer's commands. He is a fool. I am sure you find him so as well, in what ever capacity it is that you know him (it must not be a friendly one, for he dislikes you very much! Oh! What hate-filled eyes he reserves for you! Those are eyes like a samurai's!). As yet he preserves you as much as your little girl. Perhaps he only wishes to wet his blade with your life, rather than allowing me the pleasure._

_Ah! Even though you have thought me a monster since we were children, our hearts beat to a similar rhythm. Yes, you must think him a fool, for I too feel that he is._

_You always were the better onmitsu. I have had a hard time of finding you, brother. The fates have been kind to me! For how slim is the chance that Namataga-san hired me out of all the men lurking in the underworld of the city? I cannot wait to meet you again. It has been so long! And when we see each other, I will be waiting for you with an embrace. Hopefully when my blade finds your heart then, it will already be stained with the life of your love."_

Of all things! He threw the letter aside in disgust and held the tea cup with both hands. On top of everything else, now he had to deal with a lunatic! And worse yet, a lunatic he thought he had shaken years ago! He had hoped – no, prayed to a thousand different world deities – that his brother was dead.

Only to find that now the man was haunting the Aoiya and threatening its residents.

The same man that was the cause of his presence at the Aoiya in the first place. The man who had ruined everything, and also the man who had brought him to Misao.

A God. A Devil.

His brother.

If it had not been for Shinzai, Aoshi would have been living near Tokyo. Their father had been a good man: well respected and honored in the community. He _had _been lord over several vassals, but he worked in the fields as much as the peasants under him. He had insisted the Aoshi and Shinzai do the same. Because of this, he had been viewed as progressive and a champion for the poor.

Right up until his youngest son had son had slit his throat in his sleep.

Aoshi felt his face flush. He had not been able to stay his brother's hand. Shinzai had been bigger than him, even then. The shame that he had hidden away so long ago returned with a vengeance. He had not been able to protect his father, or his mother. As the eldest son, he had failed.

Worse, when the men came in the morning, under duress and grief, he had given Shinzai what he really wanted. With a shaky, cowardly hand he had signed the papers that gave his inheritance – his only foreseeable future – to his twelve-year-old brother. Evil, apparently, was something that existed even in the young.

The tea cup shattered as he threw it to the side. In the next room, Okina snorted in his sleep but did not wake. Aoshi felt the wave of nausea hit him almost too late. Scrambling for the door, he made it out and onto the porch just in time. Underneath the stars, he emptied his heaving stomach.

Perhaps it had all been for the best. The Boshin war was already begun, and Japan was feeling the first bouts of turmoil. Within a year, his father's land and home would be destroyed as the peasants under his brother's cruel rule (they were _slave_s by then) took advantage of the chaos. Shinzai had supposedly been killed as a result of the whole thing, as Aoshi would hear later.

So much for _that_.

The Oniwaban had been Aoshi's savior, of course. With the hell that the nation was becoming, Kyoto was not a safe place for any child. Had Okina not found him, he would have died soon after he left his father's house. Shinzai had staid to live off the spoils of the land that was then rightfully Aoshi's, and Aoshi had escaped to the streets of Kyoto under fear of death. Halfway across Japan, he had felt he'd be safe. But of course, the world was bigger than his Father's house and grounds, and he found himself in a city filled with turmoil. The country was being ravaged by a civil war between the emperor and his Shogunate.

He was at a Sake House looking for work when Okina found him. The old man – not so old then – had swaggered in with a woman on each arm and demanded drinks all around. It was he who had seen the promise in Aoshi's limbs, well muscled from hours in the field. He had also seen the killer hiding in the eyes of the young-boy-not-quite-a-man gawking at him from beside the proprietor.

Aoshi would remember the way that Okina had brushed the women off and made his way across the room until the day he died. Leaning over (Aoshi had been short then), he had smiled and asked softly.

"_Well, you've the eyes of a warrior, haven't you? And of an urchin._" He had stood up and looked the sake man in the eyes "_If you weren't planning on hiring him, I certainly will_."

The proprietor had just been glad to get rid of Aoshi. "_Bah_! _You can have him_! _In fact, I'll pay you to take him. Free drinks for you and the ladies!_"

And so Aoshi was sent spiraling away towards a new future. There was a year of training which proved his natural skill and ability to learn quickly. By the time he had been a part of the Oniwaban for a year he was already the best there was. He helped to defend Edo Castle with the elite. He had loved that life and the glory he was offered. The heat of the battle and the feeling of a sword in hand were much better than working on a _farm_. He had actually thought for a time, that he was lucky Shinzai was such a bastard.

"Awake at this hour?" a sleepy voice stirred him from his thoughts.

Startled and feel his gorge rising again, Aoshi wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. "M-misao? What are you doing out here? I made sure your door was…" he trailed away.

Her eyes lighted on the mess he had made, and then flickered over his face. She ignored his question. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yes, I just –"

"No need to explain." She climbed up beside him and sat with her legs over the edge of the porch. "In fact, I'm not sure I really want to know."

A little bit of the tension between his eyebrows was released. Wearily he assured her "no, you really don't."

"Then lets not talk about it." Gazing up at the moon, she shrugged and looked at him from the corners of her eyes. "Tell me a story."

He could see in the pale silver light from overhead that she had been crying. Ghostly streams painted her cheeks and her eyes looked a little sunken.

"About what, Misao-chan?"

"India." She whispered a reply without hesitation. "I think that's where you left off."

So she was back to that! He almost said no. Something inside of him shrunk back, with claws outstretched and fur standing on end. Enough unpleasant memories were plaguing his thoughts – he really didn't want to start thinking about Raku.

But no…perhaps thinking about something other than his brother for a little while would help clear his mind.

Besides, he would have an excuse to be near Misao. It wouldn't be so bad, would it?

"All right then," he sighed, "India it is. But come inside. It's cold out here."

"Yes!" Misao pumped one fist in the air and got to her feet. Her face was spilt with a nearly contagious grin.

"Let's go inside."

There came a long, awkward pause. Aoshi, who had already started in, stopped and looked back at Misao.

She was standing with one foot raised off the porch and her head titled to the side. Her cheekbones were dusted red.

"Are you all right?"

"Inside? As in, inside your room?"

Raising both eyebrows, he nodded once.

Misao considered this.

"Well, let's!"

As he turned and brought a hand up to hide his mouth, Aoshi was pleasantly confused.

The bubbling feeling in his chest, the aching of his ribs, the stretching of his cheeks as his lips curved into a smile: all these things he hid from Misao. They were things he had gone a long time without experiencing.

Suppressed laughter, he decided, was almost as good as the way meditation made him feel. Real laughter he could only imagine, but the experience was no doubt better than –

Well, he probably shouldn't think about it.

…..o…

A candle was lit. Misao crept through the Aoiya like the Oniwaban-shu she had once been and made them tea. Aoshi gathered together his thoughts and sat with his legs folded beneath him. It was late, but he would be able to tell her what he wanted to about his travels quickly if he mapped it out properly before he began.

And so he did.

When Misao finally reappeared with two cups of tea, he took his and watched as she sunk down onto his bedroll.

_Well now, _he thought, _I suppose I had better keep my distance. _

"So," Misao spoke, "you had the run-in with the snow-beast-thing and returned to the inn and got a letter a few days later that told you Raku was in India?"

Aoshi was proud she had remembered – and glad. It meant he wouldn't have to explain too much of what he had already told her. For goodness sake! It seemed like it had been years since they had talked about his journey. How long had it been? Five days? Six? Seven? More? He wasn't sure that he himself would have been able to pick up anywhere else than at India. To have to back-track would have been a disaster.

"Indeed! We had a little encounter with the yeti. And afterwards, we headed down through the foothills and towards the Sundarbans."

Misao watched him, sipping her tea with his blankets drawn up around her. Her gaze was unwavering. He sat on the floor beside the bedroll with his legs folded beneath him, eyes lowered, and mouth barely opening as he spoke. He wanted nothing more than to be beside her – perhaps with her head upon his shoulder, her arm around his waist, or even her palm spread wide across his chest to gently warm the scarred flesh there.

He heard his voice catch and had to clear his throat. Misao didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him.

He couldn't blame her – after all, he was talking about man-eating tigers. That wasn't something one heard spoken about everyday. And besides, he was finally telling her about the lace mangroves. If there was anything on his journey that he would remember forever, it was those mangroves, and the monsters that hid beneath their bows.

…o….

The Sundarbans were the largest mangrove forest anyone knew of in all of Asia. It stretched for hundreds of miles along the coast of India, and for thousands more it pushed its way up into the continent: a deep swathe of green pouring onto the land from the depths of the ocean. The trees had confusing roots that intertwined like lace and stitched themselves into and out of the water – thick threads coated with bark, scarred by wind and waves. Aoshi was amazed by them at once. (And secretly, they made him think of Misao, but he did not tell her _that_ sitting in his room in the Aoiya).

Liu was the first one to warn them to be cautious. Men in these parts, he said, wore masks on the back of their heads to make sure they were not attacked from behind.

When Aoshi asked what sort of things the local men, and themselves, would not want to be attacked by, Liu told him about the tigers of the Sundarbans. By the time Lie was done, Aoshi found a little girl clutching each of his hands.

"He will protect us!" Aiko assured her younger sister in a whisper, glancing up at the ex-okashira.

Botan was skeptical, of course. One tiger might develop a taste for human flesh – but the whole lot of them? That was impossible. He chided Liu for listening to child's tales, and told the girls they were being silly as well.

But even as Botan rambled on, waving his hands about and asking Chizuru if she had ever heard so much nonsense in her entire life, there was a short cry near where the stood.

An eerie silence fell over their motley group. Takia whimpered and buried her face against Aoshi's side. Chizuru stepped closer to Liu.

Botan trailed away, hands frozen mid-gesture and his words fading into half spoken, throaty tones.

Moments passed and a low keening bubbled up from the underbrush. It was a moan filled with agony. Aoshi gently brushed the girls away and pushed them towards their mother. Together, he and Botan drew their swords.

"Stay with them." Aoshi's words were directed at Liu, whose eyes were narrow and grave. The hefty man rested a hand on Chizuru's shoulder and replaced Aoshi as the girl's pillar of protection.

Without a backwards glance the two Oniwaban melted into the patchwork forest of sunlight and leaves. Dodging, ducking and slipping around obstacles, they were no more than wraiths of energy and shadow. With swords clutched by their calloused hands and their feet, arms, legs, souls ready to be used as weapons at the slightest command, they were still not prepared for what they stumbled upon in the middle of the nearest clearing.

Blood was spattered like raindrops: oozing down tree trunks and pooling in the hollows of the earth. Botan, who had left bloodshed behind with the Bakumatsu, gagged and brought a hand before his mouth. Aoshi let indifference harden his heart, and stepped forward. A man – or what remained of one – lay spread on his back. The poor soul no longer had a middle to speak of. Where a face had once been, something from a nightmare remained.

Sitting beside the body, with a maw shining red, was a large and very pleased looking tiger.

The eyes of two killers met. As Aoshi made his way toward the beast, it read his intent and roared so fiercely that the very trees seemed to shake with awe and fear.

But even as it leapt at the warrior before it, its doom was set. With ease, Aoshi slew the cat, rending its head from its body. It fell with a crash, heavy tail curling up like the legs of a crushed spider.

Botan, who had been bent over vomiting onto the leaves at his feet, cleared his throat. "Well, I've had quite enough of India. You, my friend?"

Aoshi did not hear him. Even as he had killed the tiger, he had seen something huddled against a tree at the edge of a clearing. Trembling, it was hidden beneath a crimson-splashed white cloth.

Closer inspection revealed a small boy cowering and weeping in terror. With some gentle prodding, Aoshi managed to get out of him that the dead man was the boy's brother, and that a small village lay a half a mile to the north, just outside of the forest.

The boy was sure the tiger had attacked because his brother had not made a proper offering to Banbibi: the tiger goddess.

This, of course, all had to be learned from Liu. Once Aoshi and Botan had picked up the boy and brought him back to where their friends were waiting in terror, Liu had interpreted the child's babbling words. Aoshi was beginning to wonder if there was a language his new friend _didn't_ know.

Once in the village, the boy led them to a small house where they were greeted at the door by an older man and woman. They were his mother and father, and they received the news of their eldest boy's demise. As the woman fell to weeping and clutching at her younger son, the man invited Aoshi and the others to stay. His voice sounded tired and wavered as he spoke.

Aoshi, Botan and Liu conferred. The note they had received concerning Raku's whereabouts was cryptic and vague. With no immediate plans and night drawing on, they decided it was best to accept the offer. The old man looked pleased and thanked them profusely.

"You have saved our family by saving our son, and we have nothing to repay you with but our hospitality. You honor us by staying."

Aoshi, who understood a thing or two about honor, accepted the thanks on behalf of the group with silent understanding and a nod.

Though they had agreed to spend just that night in the villagers' house, they staid much longer. Chizuru and the girls enjoyed being in the company of another woman again after traveling so long with 'boorish men'. The boy's mother – Ammu – taught them how to cook the finest Indian cuisine around, and often they would stay up late into the night gossiping and drinking tea. Aoshi, Botan and Liu meanwhile, spent much of their time searching for Raku. On occasion, they repaid the boys father by doing chores around the house. Aoshi even taught the boy – Esthappan – quite a few ways of defending himself, should he ever come face to face with a tiger as his elder brother had.

Days melted into weeks, and weeks morphed into months. The sky filled with more and more heavy-bellied clouds every day. One morning, Ammu informed them all that the monsoons would soon be upon them. Monsoons! Aoshi had nearly forgotten about _that_ hassle.

So it was with teary good-byes that they left the village and started onwards once more. Rumors brought to them by other men in the village who were traders told of important Japanese men in Delhi – 1000 miles away. This and the impending ominous weather were enough to set the weary travelers back on their way.

From nearby Bangladesh, they took a train. Glad to be back in the shadow of civilization, Chizuru and her daughters found it in themselves to ignore their feminine sensibilities, which shuddered at the crowded and dirty conditions of the train cars. The spicy Indian food eventually got to them, and they had to take turns running the latrine in the next car. Even so, their spirits could not be dampened. As they passed through the station in Kanpur, a short and shifty sort of fellow came onto the train to tell them that they were on the right track (in more than one sense). Delhi was the place to go – they would find Raku there. Leaving a piece of paper with an address scrawled across it in a startled Liu's hand, the man had disappeared once more.

Delhi was by far, one of the most confusing places Aoshi had ever been to (excluding England – but that story was for another night. Who had ever heard of a holiday like Christmas?). After they reached the station there and got off the train, they wandered around the streets for hours before the same man who had met them in Kanpur melted from within the shadows and told them with a devilish grin that he would lead them where they needed to go.

It was as they rounded the next corner that several men burst from hiding places and seized them.

Now, Aoshi had been in worse situations. Standing in the gathering twilight, hand on his sword hilt, a thousand possibilities dashed through his mind. He could go along with the men until they reached wherever it was that Raku was hidden. Then again, there might be even more men there and Raku could end up being somewhere else entirely. The Japanese men had already seen what Aoshi could do in Tokyo. Why would they lead him right where his friend was, where he could break the others AND Raku out?

Smiling and shaking his head, he asked the man holding his arm if he _enjoyed_ pain.

"No! What sort of question is that?"

"No?" Aoshi asked. "Well then, I shall be kind."

The man raised one eyebrow. That eyebrow remained in that position even as Aoshi ran his blade through the man's heart, killing him instantly.

Very soon, Aoshi's friends stood rubbing wrists and arms where rough hands had once clutched at them. Sweat glistening on his forehead, Aoshi sheathed one kodachi and scooped Takia up with his now-free arm.

They fled into the night, but not before Aoshi searched the little man from the train. Pressing Takia's face into his shoulder he knelt and rested her on his knee. He then rooted through what gore was left of the man until he found a little leather pocket-book.

Snorting, he informed everyone that Raku was no where near India, relatively speaking. Before picking Takia back up and standing, he wiped the pocketbook and his bloodied hand in the dust of the street.

"We are leaving for Arabia at first light."

The secrets that had been mingled with blood and flesh were laid bare in the moonlight.

Raku was in Mecca.

…..o….

Misao was snuggled deep beneath Aoshi's blanket when he finally finished. Her eyes were half closed. The tear-stains on her cheeks had faded and been replaced by a healthy flush. Shifting once as he finished speaking, she reached over and brushed her hand past his knees. Then she closed her eyes and no longer stirred. The blanket moved up and down with each breath she took.

The door onto the porch was glowing gray with early dawn light. Bones creaking with exhaustion and disuse, he crawled over and slid it shut. Stealthy as a cat he turned then and gathered the sleeping Misao, blanket and all, into his arms.

It would be better for both of them if she was not found in his room when the rest of Aoiya woke.

On his way down the hall, he passed Kenshin. The swordsman, who had always been an early riser, did not question him. Instead, he gave Aoshi a serene smile and nodded once.

When Misao was safely on her bedroll, Aoshi rejoined the once-manslayer. Together they went and took a walk in the garden.

Men who were once enemies could be friends, though Aoshi would never have believed it.


	15. Chapter 15: To Have Lost

Author's Note:

ATTENTION ALL PREVIOUS READERS. In revamping the story over the last couple of months, I spent a lot of time on this chapter in particular. It has remained much the same in terms of plot, but many of the sections have been beefed up or pared down as I felt was needed.

The only major change is in the play that the whole Kenshin crew will be going to see. I decided to do research and found that the first Shakespeare play in Japan _was_ shown around the right time period, but was actually a Kabuki adaptation of _The Merchant of Venice _rather than _Romeo and Juliet.. _I really wasn't interested in having them go to see that, but in researching Kabuki I discovered the play _Sonezaki Shinju. _I found a film adaptation of it and fell in love with it. While I'm no expert on Japan, and am definitely not an expert on theatre or Kabuki, please enjoy.

I do recommend re-reading it for refreshers sake. I am working on Chapter 16 right now and will hopefully finish it within the next week.

I missed you all! 3 As always, Happy Reading :)

**Chapter Fifteen**

**To Have Lost**

When she first woke, she panicked.

Flailing, she tried to free herself. Her arms and legs were twisted up with one another and tightly bound by her blanket. One hand was asleep and numb. As she managed to get it free pins and needles prickled in her fingertips. She whimpered and fell still.

She must be in Aoshi's _bed_. If they found her…

With a good deal of effort, she managed to get her head free. She gulped down clean, cool air and let panic settle in.

Only to find that she was in her own room.

For a moment, she was disappointed. She settled back onto her pillow and let out a long sigh.

Those around her in the Aoiya were also just stirring. The place felt like an inn for the first time in years: the air buzzed with unspoken conversation and the beating of many hearts. Water splashing, raised sleepy voices, footsteps and laughter all bubbled together into a sound familiar to so many travelers and their inn's keepers. Still, those sounds were hushed, and the air held a whisper of its own that it lacked in times when the Aoiya was emptier. It was as if the soul of the building itself had woken and had let loose a contented sigh, glad to be housing so many living things within its walls all at once.

Misao listened to the growing din around her and had to smile. She remembered how the Aoiya had been in its heyday; the Aoiya as it should be. She knew those days were long gone, and that _knowing_ made it hard to breathe. Happiness was a precious commodity hard to find and harder to keep. The past was a commodity forever lost and impossible to replicate.

Alone in her room, she realized that she knew many things beyond the nature of the past: she knew the way blood looked scattered on snow, the way sunlight glinted off the medals of decorated police officers, the way that love was easily bought but less easily sold, and even the way – pulling the blanket up to her nose – that Aoshi smelled.

But more than anything else, she knew what it was like to have lost.

…o…

That day, Kyoto was spring-swept and resplendent. The guests were no under Aoiya's roof for very long. The early morning pulled them out into chilly air and bright sunlight. After a light breakfast outside, it was decided that it would be fun to go and visit some of the sights around the city. The women wanted to see the temples and marketplace, while the men were only interested in the bars and restaurants. It was agreed upon that they would split up, and meet again later in the day at the Shirabeko for dinner.

Of course, Aoshi insisted he did not want to go. He stood on the porches and shook his head. There were things to be done around the Aoiya. Someone needed to tidy the rooms. The gardens needed to be tended. The kitchen was in total disarray (the preparation of breakfast had been something unholy at best). If he did not stay and set things to rights, than who would.

Kenshin echoed the ex-Okashira's concern and selflessly volunteered to stay and help.

A swift smack from Kaoru destroyed any thoughts of escape Kenshin had been entertaining.

"You most certainly will _not_ be staying behind! You're coming to explore Kyoto with Kenji and I!"

"But this one has already explored Kyoto!"

"KENSHIN! Take your son, already!"

The once-Battousai took his child in his arms and stooped under the weight of his wife's vicious glare. The roar of laughter from all the women weighed him down further.

"This one suggests we go to a play at sunset." He muttered once the women's giggles had faded.

His suggestion was blessed with an unexpected reception. The words had barely passed his lips when Misao cried out.

"Yes! Haru had mentioned that there was a special run of an older Kabuki show all this week! The theatre company is on a brief tour from Osaka. We could make it into a trip for everyone. I'll stop at the station speak with him."

"A wonderful idea!" This came from Omasu. She demonstrated her approval with an enormous grin that was almost comical.

The cacophonous agreement from the gathered guests had much the same in effect. Misao had to bring a hand before her mouth to keep the others from seeing the laughter that bubbled behind her teeth.

"Yes! Maybe he can get us seats near the front!"

"Or in the balcony!"

"I'll bet there will be ladies in all manner of fine kimono!"

"All the finest of society will be there!"

"Oh! There will be plenty of handsome actors, I'm sure!"

Tsubame contributed the last comment and a dreamy sigh. She stood with eyes skyward and lashes fluttering as thoughts of well-dressed thespian popinjays danced through her head. Beside her, Yahiko choked. He made an admirable attempt at hiding the jealous color that flooded his cheeks. At such a sight, Misao finally lost control. Very soon, the whole of Aoiya's yard was again filled with laughter.

Okina was the first to regain composure. "Enough! Time's a wasting! If we're going to a play then we need to start seeing the sights right away." His face his been crinkled by a smile, but it settled into a more serious mask as he turned to Kenshin. "Himura, you'll be as close to me as possible."

"He will not!" With the speed of a god that would have made Hiko gasp in wonder, Kaoru was across the garden and had Okina's ear pinched between her thumb and forefinger. "You had better not try to use my husband to pick up any of your hussies, old man!"

"Okay! Okay!" Okina waved his arms helplessly and looked to Aoshi for help. Aoshi held his hands up and shook his head.

Omasu looked flabbergasted, but Ochika, Misao and Tae collapsed against one another as they started chortling all over again. Kenshin still held Kenji, nonplussed.

It was Sano who lost patience the second time around. "Come on! Can't we beat on each other later? I'm all for it, but I'm kind of hungry."

The girls' giggles faded to quiet gasps for breath, and Kaoru looked soothed. All eyes turned to Sano. He and Yahiko had moved to the porch. There, they were trying to look as pathetic and worthy of pity as possible.

"Pffft! Of course _you'd _say that." Megumi flipped her hair in a most fox-like manner. Several groans rose up around her as she gave the fight merchant a wink and purred. "Now I wonder what else you say, when pressed by desire."

"Oh you –"

Sano chuckled and pushed Yahiko off the porch. Yahiko jumped up and launched himself at Sano in response. Soon the two were lost in a violent wrestling match. Omasu intervened. Her brows drew together and she placed her hands on her hips.

"Tut! Keep all that for later you two, as _you_ suggested, Sano!"

"Yes," Misao winked. "The day is young. There'll be plenty of time for sparring later. Let's be on our way! Everyone remember: Shirabeko at six!"

Everyone was simply glad that they wouldn't be subjected to any further exchanges between Megumi and Sano, let alone the fact that the would no longer be forced witness Yahiko and Sano rolling around like children. "At six," several voices chorused, and the crowd of friends descended into several different conversations from there. As they moved en-masse towards the gate, Omasu drew closer to Misao.

As did Aoshi.

"Misao," Omasu began, "I don't know if it's appropriate that you walk to the station alone."

Her tone was chiding. Misao felt anger rising into her cheeks. She stopped and gave her friend as nasty a glare as she could muster.

"I'm not a child, Omasu.

"No, you're not. But the society you're flirting with has a different set of rules than the Oniwaban. You're subject to much more scrutiny so close to the wedding. I think that we women should walk with you and – "

"You listen here! I am perfectly capable of –"

"I will take her."

Aoshi cut in. He had also stopped, and waited for his chance. Startled, both women looked up.

"Are you sure _that's_ appropriate?" Omasu wasted no time in voicing her opinion on the matter.

Aoshi was not shaken by the implications hiding in her tone. He pretended not to notice them. "I helped to raise Misao, just as you did. I'm a more than suitable chaperone. Besides, we will be in public the entire time, Omasu."

_For the most part_. Misao thought rebelliously. She hated to be spoken about as though she were not there.

"Well…"

Omasu seemed torn, but they had all begun to fall behind the others. Their friends were already flooding into the street and their separation would soon be cause for comment. Still, the three of them remained amongst the roses for a moment more, eyes serious and voices grave.

"Fine," Omasu sighed. "You'll remember: six at Shirabeko?"

"Yes."

"Oh, do behave yourselves!"

She gave them Misao a reluctant hug. It proved to be too long.

"OMASU! HEY! ARE YOU GUYS COMING OR NOT?" Ochika's voice drifted back to them along with the sounds of the city.

Omasu muttered an apology and scurried for the gate. She would not have stopped, had a sudden breeze not made her pause with one hand on the latch. Hair whipping before her face, she glanced backwards once.

Aoshi and Misao stood facing one another, but they were watching their friend as she hesitated at the garden's threshold. Their hair danced on the wind. That wind brought the scent of cherry blossoms and the sweet, salty smell of the sea along with it. Omasu reached up to brush at the stray strands of hair that had fallen out from under the headscarf she wore. As she tucked them behind her ears, thousands of petals were loosed from the cherry tree. Lifted by the springtime zephyr, they whirled around Misao and Aoshi. Omasu felt her breath catch in her throat.

As the gate clacked shut and she departed into the street with tears in her eyes, the petals began to drift to the earth.

Misao and Aoshi turned to look at one another.

After a long time, Misao spoke. Her throat felt tight, and the words lodged themselves in her throat before forcing their way out into the open air "I-I forgot something inside."

Aoshi stared at her levelly. "Funny. So did I."

…..0…

It wasn't planned. Both had indeed forgotten something inside. But as they were heading to meet one another back in the kitchen, they collided in the hallway. Aoshi dropped his packet of letters and papers. The sheets scattered in a thousand directions. Misao had been holding two red roses in hand. She watched in horror as the blooms crushed by the papers.

For a moment they stared at the mess, and then one another.

Misao wasn't sure how she ended up against the wall with Aoshi lips pressed to her own. She wasn't even sure how she ended up with his tongue in her mouth for the second time in a matter of days. One of his hands planted itself firmly on her breast. The other hand snaked behind her back. For a good minute or two, Haru ceased to exit.

Then, simultaneously remembering him, they broke apart. Aoshi looked away and mumbled something before getting to his knees and attempting to gather his papers up. Misao stood against the wall, with her hands behind her for a long moment and gasped for breath. Feeling dizzy and weak, she got to her hands and knees and found her way to Aoshi's side. She fingered the ruined rose petals before sitting back on her heels. She did not pick up the roses. Instead, she took Aoshi's face in her hands.

"Aoshi-sama?" She whispered the name, and it felt good.

He did not look at her. When he pulled free, it was soon enough to sting.

"We should be going."

"Aoshi –"

"NO."

He said the word with so much force that it made her ears crackle. Dazed, she watched him until he nearly had everything cleaned up before speaking again.

"What am I going to do?"

"Marry Haru." Aoshi grumbled.

"What if I don't want to?"

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly, I'm being serious."

"Hm. Seemed silly to me."

"I talked to Kaoru last night – "

"Congratulations."

"And she told me that I needed to be happy – "

"Doesn't everyone."

"She _knew_ Aoshi. She could see I was having doubts – "

"That's nothing new."

The slap echoed through the room. Misao took in a shuddering gasp. She could not remember getting to her feet.

"Damnit, Aoshi! Listen to me!"

Aoshi's eyes filled with surprise. A large red welt, the shape of her hand, rose on his cheek. As the color deepened, the surprise faded and something darker flooded into his gaze. He looked back down to the floor and picked up the last of the mess: a red envelope with an address scrawled upon it. A letter to England.

Misao felt words brimming up inside of her once more. She felt them pressing on her lips, urging her to say them. Aoshi's silence however, kept them locked inside of her. Suddenly ashamed for lashing out against him, she folded her hands in front of her and waited.

Aoshi picked up the roses, trampled as they were, and held them out to her as he stood with a barely-audible groan. Misao took them and fell in behind him as he made his way to the door.

They walked to the police station in silence. Misao wanted to tell Aoshi about everything: the rebellious emotions that were rearing inside her, how she was beginning to feel like herself again since his return, and how she was in love with two people at once. She wanted to ask him if it was possible to love two people at once.

But he had closed off. He walked ahead without speaking. Misao began to feel as though she were with a stranger. She watched her own feet and the way they stirred dust into the clear, early morning air. She might have tripped on the first step of the police station, had Aoshi not grabbed her elbow.

Still, he uttered nothing. Even when they went to the desk and spoke with the young man there. Even when Haru came out to greet them.

When she was whisked away to her fiancé's office she called out a farewell.

Even then, Shinomori Aoshi did not look up from the floor.

Lieutenant Keijuro Rin was in a private meeting with an officer from out of town. At first Aoshi was rebuffed by the young man behind the front desk on these grounds. However, when he dropped the word "Oniwaban", the young man dragged himself to his feet and led him through the winding corridors of the station. It was clearly a ploy that would work without fail. When they finally reached Rin's office, the young man knocked at the door and stood at attention.

Rin answered, and along with his greeting, the thick smell of cigarette smoke drifted out into the hall. He started to ask the young officer whatever was the matter – but then saw Aoshi for himself.

"SHINOMORI-KUN!" he roared. Pushing the man aside, he rushed over to his old comrade. "I'm glad you're here! Another friend from the Bakumatsu just joined me! Come, come! Have a smoke with the both of us, hm?"

The young officer rolled his eyes and stalked back to his post unnoticed.

Aoshi, as usual, was taken aback by Rin's exuberance at first. But slowly, he relaxed as he was led through the doorway and shown a chair.

The Lieutenant's office was spacious and filled with sunshine. Potted plants and bamboo were placed in the brightest spots and shelves laden with books basked in the lesser golden glow. Dust motes drifted from place to place, settling in a thin film atop overturned tomes. Aoshi found the heat and the thick smell of wood polish and smoke relaxing. After his encounter with Misao, he had been tense and filled with anger. A few moments in Rin's office remedied that.

It was a comfortable office, that indeed was true, but it was also unremarkable. Even so, as Aoshi sat down, he felt an involuntary gasp escape him. It was gasp of surprise.

For sitting across from him, lips forming a devilish smile around a cigarette, was a wolf.

It had been years since Shinomori Aoshi had seen Saito Hajime. The older man was still the same as ever: thin with well built muscles and a handsome face housing half-closed, squinting eyes. Those eyes watched him with cool dispassion. Though Rin bustled around them, fixing drinks and jabbering about the weather, the two warriors took in one another's presence.

When Rin finally quieted and stood watching the two as they stared at each other, Saito spoke. He took a slow drag then set his cigarette down in a heavy, silver ash tray. Aoshi noticed the nicotine staining the fingers of his gloves. He found himself staring at the browned fabric as the Wolf of Mibu spoke.

"Imagine such a meeting. Shinomori Aoshi. My, my, my – where has _this_ tiger been?"

Aoshi let his gaze slide up to the face of the police officer. Razor thin lines of age had settled into the flesh around Saito's dark eyes, and in the shadows he looked almost haggard.

"This tiger has been in the West."

"Ah, on an adventure. I'm surprised the little weasel girl didn't drag you back by your ears."

Aoshi felt as though someone had punched him in the gut. Breathless, he muttered a reply.

"Indeed. I was surprised myself."

"You've been mixed up with some interesting fellows, I understand. Last I heard your name mentioned, it was in connection with Raku Toshibu." Saito's smile deepened and became a smirk.

"Yes, I went to the West in search of him."

Saito's let out a laugh like a growl and sat back. He looked pleased with himself. "You never could keep yourself out of trouble."

"Rather, trouble cannot keep itself out of _me_."

Saito let out a short laugh and picked up his cigarette once more. Rin took advantage of the break and cleared his throat.

"Well, I didn't know you two were acquainted."

"Nor did I know you knew Saito-san." Aoshi looked to his friend.

Rin blushed a little. Aoshi's face was pulled into a fierce expression.

"Ah-ah! Hmm…well! Of course you know I grew up in Mibu. We were friends as young men."

"Saito must have been an interesting adolescent."

The wolf chuckled, but did not speak.

"Ah-ha! Well, we got ourselves into a fair amount of trouble. We loved the ladies!"

Aoshi actually laughed. Rin's eyes widened.

Saito only perked a brow. "A trait you still possess, no?"

"W-well Shinomori-kun, I must say I do enjoy female company. What man doesn't?"

The three fell into silence and memory. Saito offered Rin and Aoshi a cigarette and they both accepted. Before long, the clock was chiming noon.

Saito shifted and sat forward. He removed his gloves, revealing hands inscribed with hundreds of lily-white scars. Gatotsu was not an easy art to learn, nor a safe one.

"Shinomori, I understand that girl of yours is to be married?"

"Yes." Aoshi pinched the end of his cigarette. He ignored the bite of the smoldering tip.

"Well, that's part of why I'm here. I received a letter from Okina not long ago. He requested I come to the wedding. I'm not sure why he would think to invite me of all people but – "

"You've helped us and saved Misao at least once. It is only courteous."

Saito made a dismissive sound. "Well, in any case, I will be there. My fool of a wife got a hold of the damn thing. You know how women are. Next thing I know she's packing up kimono and suits and saying how it's only right that we make an appearance. As a Lady of society I understand the drive for formality, but it's the need to make such a fuss that I don't understand."

"There isn't a man alive who understands _that_." Rin grinned. "Women are buzzing bees. It's a fact of nature. I'm just surprised you managed to catch yours without getting stung."

Saito leaned back in his seat and gave Aoshi a knowing look. "Oh, I wouldn't say I escaped that. Not at all."

Aoshi almost smiled – almost.

Rin noticed the exchange and suddenly seemed to remember Aoshi's presence. Laughing, he spread his hands before himself.

"Shinomori-Kun! I'm very sorry! You must have been quite determined to get in here! Young Miyabe-chan is very serious about his post. To what do I owe this honor?"

Aoshi weighed his words with care. He and Battousai had formulated a solid plan earlier that morning as they walked alone in the garden. Part of that plan involved raising the alarm by tipping off the police.

But they had to do so in such a way that Haru would not find out.

Of course, Aoshi had thought of Rin. As an ex-Oniwabanshu, his allegiance would always lie with his former comrades from during the Bakumatsu. Even as an officer of the law. If Aoshi gave him information and then asked him to remain silent, he knew that his old friend would keep his mouth closed. And as an ex-spy, Rin would also realize the importance of secrecy.

And now, things were better than he had hoped! Himura had lamented that they did not know the whereabouts of Saito. What luck that he had shown up for the wedding. Okina! Aoshi knew he would have to thank him. Certainly the old man had done a lot of spying leg work in order to be able to get an invitation to the ever elusive Mibu wolf.

Well, it was a good thing the old man had done that leg work. If anyone would be useful aside from Himura and his master, it was Saito and his Gatotsu.

"I have something urgent to tell you." Aoshi let the words leave his mouth like half churned cream.

"Do you now?" Rin's smile disappeared. As he leaned forward concern creased his brow. "What news have you?"

"It has come to the attention of the Oniwaban here in Kyoto that there might be a very important shipment coming into port in less than a weeks time. A shipment carrying precious cargo. Perhaps something like…a princess."

Saito and Rin both exchanged glances.

"Is this true?" Aoshi feigned interest in picking at the lacquer on the desk before him.

Rin's face had gone blank. "It is."

"And I assume that you will have it well guarded when it enters port?"

"We thought a small group would be sufficient. We had thought no one but us knew about it. The ship has been disguised as a freighter carrying goods of…lesser value…since it left the port in Shanghai."

Aoshi let out a long sigh. "I assume you already fear what I might say. I see it in the way you are sitting."

Indeed, Rin had gone rigid. Both hands gripped the chair on either side of him. Voice brittle and ready to crack, he growled. "Apparently we have a leak here. And now, more than just our own men know about the…Princess. I assume you know who this leak is?"

Aoshi nodded once.

"And I also assume that you will not tell me?"

"Not as of yet."

Rin leaned back and folded his hands. A silent intensity and sureness crept into his posture. He looked at the Aoshi and Saito and spoke with gravity. "This, quite naturally, will not leave this room. I will pursue the matter with caution. Aoshi? Will the Oniwaban offer its support, should it be required?"

"Shiro and I will most definitely give aid, as will a few of our other friends."

Rin inclined his head in question.

"Myojin Yahiko, Sagara Sanosuke, Hiko Seijuro, and Himura Kenshin."

At the latter two of the four names, Saito's eyes narrowed even more, as if it were possible.

Rin jumped in his seat. "Hmmmm! Those last two are an army in themselves! And if by that Sanosuke fellow you mean the one wanted for that incident with that official then you've already got quite a force on your hands!"

"Indeed. But if you remember Rin, the night the shipment comes through is the same night as Misao's wedding, and all those men are guests."

"Ah, it's Haru's special night as well – hoh! The poor boy! I hope these events don't ruin the ceremony for him and little Misao!"

Aoshi offered Rin a tight-lipped smile. "I certainly hope it won't."

The three men fell into uneasy silence. Dust continued to dance around the room and heat poured into the small space along with the sun. Saito smoke two more cigarettes. Somewhere in the distance the clock chimed the hour once more. Each man let his mind wander along its own separate pathways. There was no telling how long they would have sat there, had a crisp knock not come at the door.

Saito looked up slowly, but both Aoshi and Run nearly jumped out of their skin. While Saito had been stirred from thoughts of the Battousai, Rin had been preoccupied with trying to come up with the best plan of action in order to keep a priceless artifact safe. Aoshi had been thinking about Misao.

And it just so happened that it was Misao's voice that drifted through the door to them.

"Aoshi? Aoshi? The young man at the desk said I could find you here! Aoshi! Are you in there?"

Aoshi found the other men were watching him. He called out, "yes!"

"Well, can I come in then?"

"Of course, Misao-chan."

This came from Rin, who was watching Aoshi with wolfish interest more characteristic of Saito.

The door's hinges creaked as it was swung open. It revealed Misao, glowing with delight.

"Aoshi! Haru is going to take us to see Kabuki tonight after all! His father has gotten us seats in the balconies! For everyone! Oh…"

Misao noticed Saito as she spoke. For a long moment she stood with her mouth hanging open. Aoshi reached up and gently pushed on her chin to remind her where she was.

"O-oh! I'm sorry! Saito-san! I didn't expect to see you here! My goodness! No one has seen you in years!"

Her face colored with joy.

"Oh! I suspect you've heard about the wedding! Yes? No?"

Saito, both eyebrows arched high, nodded once.

"But who told you?" She might have gone and began tugging on the Mibu wolf's shirt, had she not remembered herself two steps into her flight across the room.

"Okina sent me a letter…or rather a letter to my wife. I told Shinomori that I we would be in attendance, but now that the lady of the hour is here, I will tell you."

To Aoshi and Rin's collective amusement, and Misao's bewilderment, Saito took a step back and bowed low.

"The Lady Takagi Tokio formally accepts the invitation to your wedding, as does her consort, Saito Hajime. Now. If you will excuse me, I must be leaving. Forgive my hasty departure, but something has just become known to me that requires my due attention."

With a little huff of breath, Saito stood up straight once more.

For a long moment, three blank faces stared back at him. Then, Misao's split into a smirk. Aoshi looked taken aback.

And Rin began to laugh.

"…'her consort Saito Hajime'…" he mimicked. "Saito! What is this?"

Grimly, Saito stepped across the room, and at first did not reply. It was only as he reached the door and was about to step through to the hallway that he turned back. He coughed a little. The others, had they not known him better, would have said that he was embarrassed.

"Keijuro…Shinomori. I have learned one thing as a husband that I would have never learned as a warrior."

"And what might that be?" Rin smile had faded. Even Misao suddenly sobered.

For a moment, Saito paused. "It is simple really," he mused aloud. "We indulge our women where we do not indulge our peers."

Then, he strode down the hall and out of sight. The three left in Rin's office stared after him, mystified.

But as time will do, the passing of the afternoon in the world outside drew them back to reality.

"Ah! Aoshi, we have to be going now. I must get a gift for the Namagatas. They will be there tonight. Haru would take me, but he has to work a while yet. Come on!"

Misao grabbed Aoshi's coat sleeve and yanked him to his feet. She was about to take him through the doorway when she stopped and turned back.

"Rin-San?"

"Yes Misao-chan?"

"Would you be so kind as to grace us with your presence at the wedding?"

Rin's eyes widened and he sputtered for a moment. Misao smiled and titled her head to the side. When the ex-Oniwabanshu finally regained control of himself, he nodded vigorously.

"Why of course! I thought that…well no…how rude of me! Yes! Yes, I will come to your wedding. I may have to be late, should some expected circumstances arise…" darkness flashed in his eyes "…but I will certainly come. If I am not at the wedding, accept my apologies in advance. I will still come to the reception if it would please you, hmm?"

Misao nodded, "please! It would."

All at once, she moved her grip from Aoshi's sleeve to Aoshi's hand.

Neither she nor Rin noticed. They were exchanging particulars.

But Aoshi noticed.

Swallowing hard, he had to look out into the hallway.

Rin and Misao chattered like school girls for what seemed like hours. Then finally she turned her attention back to Aoshi, and pulled him into the hallway. He offered Rin a weak goodbye then followed her out and away.

"Haru is taking all of us the see a play called _Sonezaki Shinjû_, on his father's treat. I don't know what gift is proper to give he and the Lady Namataga in return for their generosity. Until we decide though we can go look at combs. I need…a…new…."

Misao finally realized that she was holding Aoshi's hand. She pulled away as color flooded into her cheeks.

"You must be more careful." Aoshi chided, feeling disappointed at the same time.

She made no reply.

Instead, she rushed ahead of him. She chattered about combs and plays once more. It was all she could do to try and hide the embarrassment and sorrow prying at her heart.

Aoshi followed, a heaviness settling over his chest. It was an awful weight – one he was experiencing more and more as of late. It was a feeling he had thought he had gotten rid of: the feeling that he knew what it was to have lost something precious.


	16. Chapter 16: Temiyage

**Hello All!**

**I know that I should apologize for taking so long to write this – years (disgraceful!) – but know that it wasn't out of laziness. For the most part, it was the things happening in my life: this Aoshi fangirl has been through some Rurouni Kenshin worthy drama! Minus all the cool stuff like sword battles and sexy ninjas. **

**Another part of it was real and true writer's block. It's a total bitch. (Like Sojiro when he gets all whiny about the strong living and the weak dying. There's a metaphor somewhere in there, I think.)**

**But here is the next chapter! Please forgive any change in tone/mood! This wannabe-Oniwabanshu is a totally different literary onmitsu than she was three years ago when this story was born. I'll do my best to stay consistent and get back in the zone.**

**Okay Okay Okay. Enough with the cheesy Kenshin references. Read, enjoy, and please keep any flames flickering but not blazing. 3**

**Chapter 16**

**Temiyage**

Aoshi and Misao stepped out of the police station and into an alien world. It was not that the world itself had become strange; it was the same Kyoto they had both known for so very long. It was they who were different, and standing on the steps together the change within them made itself known. It hit Misao like an icy winter gale. If it similarly affected Aoshi, he did not show it except for a flickering in his eyes. She caught the slightest wrinkling of his forehead as she looked back at him over her shoulder.

She did not know that it was loss he felt in that moment, rather than the sudden peculiarity of the world. Though he watched her through a veil of quiet despair, he appeared cold and detached to her. As if aware of her misunderstanding, she felt a wave of uneasiness. There was a gulf between them – that much she knew – and it was only then that she looked down and realized how deep it was.

Who was this man, that he looked at her so? How could he scold her for grabbing his hand inside the station? Hadn't he been unable to keep his own hands off of her just that morning? Had they finally come to the mutual understanding that she must marry Haru? That life must move on and that there was never an easy or painless way out of anything?

That was it, of course. In the span of a few hours, the world had become one in which the marriage of Makimachi Misao and Haru Namataga was a truth rather than a dreamlike myth. Guests were arriving and extended family and friends were about to be formally introduced. The big day itself was screaming back to them from the future. Reality was aligning itself so as to fit within a new frame that left little room for Aoshi. It represented the birth of a new world inhabited by a woman named Namataga Misao.

A startling terror spread through her limbs at the thought of such a world. The feeling was not unlike the first waves of exquisite numbness brought on by a deep draught of sake. She knew her eyes widened as she stared back at Aoshi. He stood just outside the station doors. There he was bathed in sunlight, but still appeared to be wreathed in shadows and gloom.

It was in that moment that the meek and fragile thought of ending the engagement crossed her mind. Misao dismissed it without hesitation.

_This is normal, _she thought_, to have such thoughts. No doubt Omasu would laugh and tell me not to be so silly_.

She felt something inside of her crumble, but ignored the hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach. _Just nerves. _

Forcing a smile, she yelled, "are you coming or not, Aoshi? I haven't got all day!"

The moment was broken. Aoshi nodded once and moved down the steps and to her side. Around them, others bustled to and fro. Kyoto had long ago fully woken from slumber and was descending into the harried hours of late afternoon. There were significantly more people on the steps and they found it difficult to get down to the street without bumping into anyone.

Neither spoke until they were well on their way to the market, shuffling through the crowds. It was too easy to lose one another, so Misao once again placed a hand on Aoshi's arm. He didn't berate her this time, much to her relief. He did, however, surprise her.

"Sake and a flask with cups. That will be a more than adequate temiyage."

At first, Misao did not realize that it was Aoshi who had spoken. The noises of the city were a force to reckon with. People shouted, carts creaked and rattled, animals of all sorts cried and called and lowed. Aoshi's soft words were almost lost under the din. Misao's brows drew together as she stepped around a nasty looking puddle.

"For the Namataga's?"

"Yes. Mr. Namataga will appreciate good sake if he is a man of higher class, and Mrs. Namataga will be pleased by the pretty little set with which to serve her lord."

_With which to serve her lord_. A tiny voice inside told Misao they insinuated just what sort of role Aoshi believed she was soon to take on herself.

She snarled, vexed. "Who would have known you were such a perceptive man of class, Aoshi Shinomori."

Aoshi ignored her venom. "There, Misao. Last I was here, that shop sold good sake, and the owner's prices were more than fair. It looks as though it has not changed."

"Well, that would be the only thing that hasn't."

She sighed with dramatic flair. Letting go of his sleeve, she stalked across the street and into the shop without waiting to see if he followed.

Once inside, she found the owner was a pleasant little man with bright blue eyes and an easy smile. His shop suited him: it was small but welcoming and filled floor to ceiling with stacked bottles of every color imaginable. It was a daunting task but she selected a bottle with his help. He was knowledgeable as well as kind, chatting easily about the taste and clarity of his manifold wares. It turned out that Aoshi has been right. The man's prices were more than reasonable. She dug a little envelope out from where it was tucked behind her obi when it came time to pay. When she did so, a shadow fell across her. Aoshi _had _followed, and stood dangerously close.

He favored the envelope with a pointed stare. "I see you purchase your temiyage for your in-laws with your fiancé's own money," he said. "Already he treats you like a doting wife."

Misao flushed. She ground her teeth and paid the man. He seemed unaffected by the battle taking place before him.

"Ah! Thank you, miss. I'm sure your father-in-law will be most pleased. I hope I will see you again."

"No doubt you will; if not for my in-laws pleasure then for my own relief."

Her chin jutted out in defiance and she pushed past Aoshi. The man shot him a sympathetic look.

Back outside, try as she might, Misao could not stay ahead of Aoshi. He was ever a step behind her, trailing through the crowd like a ghost. She knew it was folly to try and loose him, but she couldn't help wishing it were possible. They had only made it a few hundred feet from the sake shop when he spoke again.

"We might go to the market, for the flask and cups."

"And what of my comb?"

"That as well. If you would stop for a moment and – "

Misao did not give him to honor of letting him finish. She picked up her pace. With the day's heat, she knew that the market would have set up on the outskirts of town, near the city gardens. There the breeze coming off the river would be pleasant enough to ward off some of the sun. It was not far – a few blocks – but she practically ran, if only to avoid speaking with Aoshi. She was unsure now why his words on the street had made her so angry, but they had pushed her into a foul mood. What he had said in the sake shop, though true, made them even worse.

So Haru was to be her _lord_ and husband. Already he treated her as his fawning little maiden, showering her with gifts and granting her boons disguised in little envelopes.

To imagine that Aoshi would _dare_ to point it out.

When she made it to the first merchant's kiosk, her chest was heaving with unspent sobs and mounting wrath. She might have turned and attacked Aoshi with a well-placed bird kick of fury if not for three things.

First, her kimono was too snug and fine for her to break into a careless bout of martial arts. Second, she was sure Aoshi would easily block her attack – as he had the last time.

The third reason was the biggest cause for constraint: the kiosk she had come to belonged to a man with a familiar face. She did not wish to give that man – Seijuro Hiko – any reason to tease her later on.

Hiko was sitting on a stump that looked like it had been dragged down from the mountains with the express purpose of serving as his throne. His feet were propped up on the back wheel of his cart, which sat open to reveal a multitude of clay and porcelain dishes, cups, jugs and pots. In one hand he swirled a swallow of sake around a cup. A jug sitting on the ground beside him was covered by his other hand. It was a protective gesture that promised a thorough beating to anyone who dare try to take it from the watchful master of Hiten Mitsurugi. When he finally spoke to her, his voice came out as a bored drawl. The smile dancing on his lips made his tone all the more condescending.

"Misao? How strange seeing you and Shinomori-san here together. You look upset."

Misao stood and gaped at him. She felt Aoshi's hand fall on her shoulder then slip away as he moved past her. He came to a stop beside Hiko's cart, which he leaned against.

"Always observant, Master Hiko. We come to you looking for aid."

"Humph," Hiko smiled outright, "every time I hear that I know there's trouble afoot."

"Indeed. We are looking for a flask and cups for sake. They must be of a superior quality and exquisite style. Both are hard to find in one single place here in Kyoto. We knew if anyone could help us, it would be you."

"Whatever would you need a flask and cups for, Aoshi? I've never seen you drink."

Misao chose that moment to step forward and speak.

"They're for me, Master Hiko."

"Ah! Misao-chan, are you really that terrified of being married? If that is what drives you to such an un-ladylike habi – "

"– no, Master Hiko. It is temiyage that drives me."

Hiko glanced to Aoshi. His eyes sparkled as he drew to his feet.

"Well, then, Misao. Tell me everything and we shall find a flask and cups to suit you." He spread his hands before him and bowed his head. Misao knew it was the closest gesture she would get as an apology for his teasing.

Misao followed him to the back of the cart. Aoshi remained where he was, arms folded and breeze fluffing his hair outward from his face. Misao stole a glance at him before focusing on Hiko again. The old swordsman was stooped over his wares, but he did not appear aged or weak. Instead, his posture was a regal and calculated one. The strength in every part of his body was hard to ignore. The muscles of his arms bunched and coiled beneath his shirt. Despite all things, Misao was still a woman: she enjoyed view. It was easy to understand Ochika's infatuation. With his dark hair falling down across his face, he cut a figure steeped in wise and beautiful mystery.

Aoshi gave no indication that he had noticed her scrutiny and nor did Hiko. When he stood up, she looked to her feet and blushed.

"Here we are, my dear. This should serve you well."

He was holding a delicate flask in one hand and cradling two cups in the other. All three pieces appeared thin as paper. The flasks mouth came to a waved edge like the top of a seashell. The cups were almost perfectly round, with only their rims too keep them from immediately reminding Misao of pearls. Perhaps what was most astounding was their color: a pristine white, made glorious by a mother-of-pearl finish. The character meaning "unity" was painted in deep indigo just beneath that remarkable glaze. Had anyone asked Misao if she thought Hiko's mastery of pottery would advance so far when she saw his first cracked cups many years before, she could never have imagined the artistry he placed in her trembling hands.

"Oh, Hiko!"

"I know. I'm a god of more than the sword."

She was not so awed she could not manage a quip. "So Ochika tells us."

Hiko's eyes widened, then the skin around them crinkled with laughter.

"Little Misao, let me find a way for you to bring these safely back to Aoiya. I would have you deliver a message to Ochika for me, and that I will take as my payment."

Misao thought to protest – the flask and cups were too fine to jest about their worth – but knew that Hiko would tell her if he were in need of any other compensation.

"And what would that message be?"

He paused, as if forming his response using the same great care with which he made his pottery.

"Tell her," he said finally, "that she had better stop spreading rumors about the great Seijuro Hiko. It grieves me to have to break so many hearts when I tell them there is only one woman who will benefit from my….extracurricular talents."

With that, he took the flask and cups back. He then went around the front of the cart. Misao, unable to stop laughing, could not imagine delivering such a message to Ochika with a straight face. Neither could Aoshi, judging by the sparkle in his eyes.

Leave it to Hiko to clear away the dark cloud that had been gathering over them both.

...

Hiko found an empty crate at the front of the cart. He brought it back and wrapped the porcelain in silk. He did so with the gentleness that one uses with a small child. Afterwards the three of them sat and exchanged small talk for as long as Misao dared. The afternoon was drawing on. She did not want them to be late meeting the others at Shirabeko, especially after timeliness had been so emphasized that morning. Hiko made no attempt to stop them and said goodbye with his usual finesse. He pointed them in the direction of an old woman who sold combs, grunted a farewell and that was that. He plopped down upon his stump once more and Misao and Aoshi were on their way.

It did not take Misao long to pick a comb: a pale orange soapstone one that matched the koi swimming around her pale blue kimono. She paid the sprightly old woman, who inclined her head.

"Come here, deary. Let me help you with that."

Short as she was, Misao had to stoop so that the old woman could reach her hair. Though the woman's hands were gnarled, they were as steady and adept in their craft as Hiko's were in his. When handed a small shard of mirror, Misao was pleased to find the comb was set perfectly, tilted just enough to make her look coy yet straight enough for all the fine details the comb boasted to shine.

"There you are dear. Come now, young man, doesn't your young lady look pretty?"

To Aoshi's credit, he did not correct the old woman. "Yes," he almost whispered, "she looks beautiful."

The old woman beamed and began to whistle as Misao got to her feet. She and Aoshi departed with her cheery tune ringing in their ears.

They made it to the outskirts of the market just as the clock in town was chiming four o'clock. It was mere minutes to Shirabeko if they caught a carriage once back on the main road. Misao pretended to fret, but was glad for the extra time that left them. She was exhausted, and a long night loomed ahead of them. It was a lucky sign, she thought, that they were so near the city gardens. She said nothing but Aoshi saw how she wilted. He suggested they find a place to sit in repose for a while before they started back into the rush and noise of the city.

They did just that, of course. Aoshi walked beside her and they made their way down meandering paths lined by graceful companies of cherry trees. Neither spoke; there was no reason. Spring was a lady out in full splendor, parading about in her kimono of flowers and dappled sun. She demanded silence in honor of her glory. Here and there bushes and smaller, delicate plants capered about beneath the boughs of so many blooming trees. Some flowers, tall and resplendent, flaunted their beauty on the crisp breeze coming off the river. Others were tiny and meek, only revealing their fragile perfection when tickled by the same breeze that made their larger counterparts dance.

It did not take long to find two larger boulders where the garden began its rapid descent to the river shore. It took some finagling, but Misao managed to get comfortable even with the constraints of her kimono. She found a small measure of joy in the single, tiny smear of mud that resulted at her hem. Aoshi did not sit. Instead he stood close by, propping himself up with his elbow against the second boulder.

They remained in silence. Below them, the water chattered and chortled along its merry way, flirting with its banks. It was crystal clear and calm despite the breeze. Misao fancied she could see fish from time to time, leaping above the surface. She envied them, and their freedom. The river and the world beyond was open to them. It was that thought that turned her attention to Aoshi.

"You must tell me," she murmured, "the rest of the story."

"Misao – "

"Aoshi, if you do not tell me the rest of the story soon, you will not be able to."

"It is time we were leaving for Shirabeko."

"Aoshi!" Heat flooded her cheeks. "The wedding is in six days."

"Is it?"

Those two words dropped a load of stones into her belly. They were calm, cool and dismissive as they left his lips. He stood up tall and offered her a hand.

She looked away.

"Misao-chan, I do not wish to walk to Shirabeko alone."

"I am not your little Misao any longer, Aoshi."

She had hoped to sting him. Instead, she felt like a petulant child. She was sure that Aoshi thought the same of her. It was the opposite effect she had been hoping for. Her shoulders sank, but she turned and favored him with a baleful glare.

"I want to hear the rest of the story. It won't hurt you to tell it. You and I both know that we don't need to leave for Shirabeko right now."

Aoshi considered her as she pouted. She didn't know if it was her logic or Aoshi's own reluctance to join the others back in the city, but he leaned against the rock once more.

"Perhaps there is time for some weaving of words."

Misao clapped her hands, grinned and readjusted her kimono. Comfortable as she would ever be, she folded one hand beneath her chin. She was staring at Aoshi with her eyes gleaming when he murmured, "as I recall – "

"– you were on your way to Arabia!"

When Aoshi looked at her she wanted to believe so very badly that the glimmering in his own eyes was the beginning of a smile.

It was its own sort of tragedy that she knew better.

...

The days after India were marked by a blurred, heat-hazed existence. Details, sanity and even the will to move forward became elusive things. First, they took trains until the tracks ran out. They crossed a range of mountains at the edges of India and descended into an alien, desert-swept landscape. From there they continued westward, mainly on foot and finally on the backs of camels, horses and donkeys as they became more travel savvy. Water, sun-hardened local tribesmen and sandstorms all became equal concerns. They passed first through Pashtun and Afghan lands before eventually reaching ancient Persian holdings. They found the latter more socially hospitable, despite the mountains it threw in their way.

On their journey through Kurdistan a creeping exhaustion that had been afflicting Chizuru caught up with them. They were forced to stop further along in Basrah. Liu lamented that a trip to Baghdad would put them too far out of the way – and Aoshi has to admit he had only heard whispers of the city his strange friend was talking about. Still, he couldn't complain: Liu's knowledge of language and culture yet again saved them. After a few days rest, he managed to obtain both fresh water and a new stock of provisions.

Not to mention a guide.

They were staying in a little tent Liu had procured. It was no luxurious thing, but it kept out the wind and sand. Chizuru was still weak after nearly a fortnight there, but she was not allowed the courtesy to languish much longer than that. Liu crept inside the tent one evening, with a small, stooped man following close behind. The man was old – practically ancient as Botan and Aoshi saw it. Still, there was a sly awareness and good humor in his large dark eyes.

Their new friend – Qadi – informed them that they had many miles of desert to cross before they reached their destination. Liu stood behind him and favored them with a gloomy stare as Qadi informed them that there would be no getting into Mecca to search for Raku and his captors. Mecca, after all, was a city to which only Moslems could only gain entrance. Botan and Aoshi exchanged a glance but took the man's words in stride. There was always a solution in such situations when one was an onmitsu.

As they plotted with their eyes, Qadi prattled on about how he still would bring them wherever they desired – for a small price. No one argued on that point. Each day that passed brought Raku closer to certain doom. Particulars or payment were a detail that could be sorted out later on once they had made it into Mecca and saved their friend.

The next leg of their journey was a true blur. Any recovery Chizuru had made in Basrah was swiftly lost on the road. The going was slow and oasis's too few. Still, they struggled onward. Each passing day became another nightmare steeped in sweltering mirages. There was no relief. Aoshi felt a growing sense of amusement concerning his own memories of high summer in Japan. How long and hot those days had seemed! Compared with the noon hour alone in the Arabian dessert, those distant memories seemed illusory: more dream than truth.

They persevered in spite of the heat, less for the sake of poor Raku than for their own survival. What had started as a rescue mission became an exercise in staying alive. Qadi was a brilliant guide. He knew the swiftest paths over dunes and through desolate mountains. He knew all the best places to stop for water and where their passage would not be welcome. He knew the creatures of the dessert and all the boons they offered to starving and parched travelers alike. Without him they would have been lost before they had made half the journey to the holy city.

One event that stood out the most was their meeting with a particularly grumpy group of Bedouins. Aoshi and Botan's immediate reaction was defensive. Liu, however, urged them to follow Qadi's lead. The Bedouin were concerned that Qadi and the others were there to steal water and even pilfer from the meager flock of goats their warlord boasted. Qadi, spoke in the local dialect as easily as he might have had he learned it from the cradle. This swiftly disarmed the Bedouin. Soon they were all sitting around the fire sharing stories and exchanging information concerning trade routes and rival tribes. Painted in firelight, Aoshi drank in the sight of so many Bedouin warriors, humbled by the realization that such men would have easily defeated him without a single emotion so much as flickering across their sun-worn faces.

Arabia and its people, he decided, were no less fierce or honorable than all the samurai in Japan. It comforted him to see that a land were such warriors flourished still existed.

In the same way that the desolate nightmare of the Arabian desert slipped over them, it peeled away at the edges. It was the Takia who first saw the caravans melting out of the shimmering horizon. Other travelers making for Mecca just as they were began to stream into sight. There were longs lines of camels bearing dark-eyed men and women in robes who shouted down at young children prancing between their beasts' knobby-knees. There were midnight-black giants with gold in their ears who were carried on litters by their slaves. Aoshi was even surprised to see pale European men with beards and glasses who looked rather uncomfortable atop camels led by scornful Bedouin guides astride sleek black horses.

It was an encouraging sight, if not entirely strange. If so many different people could call themselves Moslems, then slipping into Mecca could not be so difficult.

When Liu told Qadi this, the old man only laughed. Liu's crestfallen look was enough to send Aoshi's stomach in knots.

"He says that we are arrived just in time for the Hajj – a most Holy pilgrimage. We are certainly bound to find others with faces like ours in Mecca. Finding the knowledge to fool an entire city of Moslems into thinking we believe as they do will be another matter."

"Ask him then," Botan snapped. "Ask him where we can find this knowledge? An onmitsu learns fast."

Liu leaned in close to the old man, who chortled and turned his palms to the sky.

"He says he can give it to you. For a price."

Botan bared his teeth. Aoshi was more measured in his response. Even he knew that knowledge was as necessary as shadows.

"Well? What does an onmitsu need to enter a holy city during such an auspicious time?"

Qadi was very serious when he replied. His eyes sparkled as Liu translated.

"Other than being Moslem? You will need robes first. Special robes: ihram."

It took them some time to figure out how they were to find these robes. Meanwhile, they drew ever nearer to Mecca. Mountains rose like the spires of a crown on the horizon. Soon enough, the mountains became as towers and Qadi reminded them again and again that procuring ihram would be essential. It was Botan who suggested that they might steal them. The old Arab only laughed.

Liu flushed scarlet. "The laws in this country are…strict…concerning such matters. We should think of another way."

They had little money left and had no desire for Qadi to find out. The travelers around them had become palpably excited. They would reach Mecca within the week and they had gathered that they must be wearing the ihram before they reached the city. Chizuru and girls needed only wear the headscarves Liu had gotten them before they had left Basrah. According to Qadi the women were required dress modestly; their kimono were modest enough so long as their hair was covered.

Ah, Chizuru and the girls presented another problem. As the week went on, Qadi was not so convinced they could be snuck into the city. The ban on non-Moslems would be strictly enforced. It would be hard enough getting Aoshi and Botan inside. Besides, the crowds would be so huge that it would be easy to lose one-another.

"So what does he suggest?" Botan pressed. He was losing his patience.

For a moment, Liu and Qadi spoke. When Liu turned back he looked relieved.

"I will continue on to Jeddah with them. Once you have found Raku, you can him bring there. It is a coastal city: we can pay Qadi and escape by way of the Red Sea." He shrugged. "As for Qadi, he has come this far, I assume he would want to perform the pilgrimage for his troubles. He will stay with you and lead you all to Jeddah afterwards."

It was a plan they all ultimately agreed upon four days later, and just in time too. They were hardly more than a half day's journey outside of Mecca when night fell. As the stars rose, Liu crept away to see what news there could be found concerning the city's current affairs. Qadi, ever amused, sat by the fire and watched the flames dance while Botan rocked and fretted beside him. The other onmitsu had finally begun to panic: they would need ihram by morning and there was little chance the robes would be easily found for a price they could afford. That evening, Qadi had already pulled his ihram free of his bags to demonstrate and offered them a smug smile.

Aoshi, for his part, had grown sick of the tension. They faced a problem with a simple solution. Though the plan was to save Raku and then follow Qadi once he had completed the Hajj, taking such a course was ridiculous. The best thing would be to find Raku as soon as possible – by next sunset, if they could manage – and make for Jeddah immediately. Aoshi tried to meditate to calm his nerves and find some clarity on the matter, but found he could not. Long after Liu had returned and both he and Qadi gone to sleep, Aoshi decided that walking was more the order of business. He slipped into the night once he was certain that Botan had lost himself in his fretting.

Outside the halo of the firelight, he found the desert was lit by the full moon's glow. He looked up at the sky and, not for the first time, realized how truly far he was from home. The mountains surrounding Mecca were nothing like the mountains he longed for. The desert, stretching miles in all directions, was fiercer and lonelier than any land he had ever seen: even the high countries they had passed through to the east had been different. There had been an emptiness in those lands; a beautiful and terrible emptiness. Aoshi had come to see a difference: in Arabia, every delicate breeze that brushed through the sand screamed of sorrow and solitude.

He made his way around the outside of encampment. More and more pilgrims had trickled in while the sun set and it had grown as large as a city itself. Now, so late into the night, most had settled down to sleep. Still, the air was filled with a murmuring of excitement. How many, Aoshi wondered, had been waiting their whole lives for this one journey? How many would begin a ritual they had longed to perform since they were children. He wondered if there were others who had never gone without performing the Hajj. It was a sacred act, this one of pilgrimage, and he felt a twinge of guilt that he might have to kill during such a holy time. He also was afraid: if stealing was so dangerous an act that it made Liu flush with fear, then what would be the penalty should they be caught killing Raku's captors? Certainly death or worse. Even if man did not witness it, he felt that the gods themselves would be angered at so bold an offense, though the Hajj was not in their honor.

That left Aoshi to wonder: did the gods of his homeland see what he did in such a faraway place?

He was growing tired and considered returning to his tent when a haunting wail rose up. It was a familiar sound, but one that was still strange enough to send a shiver spiraling up his spine. A flute! Not unlike a friend's voice when painted by another accent, the flute seemed to have a language of its own. It had a breathy timbre and a depth that made it an entirely different species than its brothers in Japan. Aoshi found himself captivated; a man hearing birdsong for the first time. His feet moved him towards the sound of their own volition.

When he reached the source, he was surprised. A lone man sat outside of a pale tent, legs crossed and eyes closed. The fire before him had shrunk to coals and embers, but it seemed not to matter. He played the flute with abandon, like a man swept by spiritual ecstasis. Aoshi could only watch and wait.

It did not take the man long to finish. He had sensed Aoshi's presence. The song he played descended into fading string of notes: like the whisper of a rainstorm moving off into the distance. When the flute was finally silent, he slid it into a silk bag at his side and got to his feet. He offered Aoshi a hand, which Aoshi took.

Calluses: That was the first thing he noticed. The man before him was a swordsman as well as a flautist. The man marked the same calluses on Aoshi's hand with the ghost of a smile and a short nod.

"I dreamed I would meet you tonight."

The man's voice was so deep the very earth seemed to rumble with it. He was as tall as Aoshi and had skin dark as the sky above. His eyes, also dark, shimmered with star shine. A great calm seemed to be gathered about his person: this was a man at peace.

"I have had only nightmares." Aoshi admitted.

"You are seeking something, and it defies you. I would expect no less. I am Abdas. Walk with me and you may tell me what you are looking for."

...

Somewhere in Kyoto, a clock was marking half-past five on a warm spring evening. Misao thought she had heard it chime the hour just moments before. She reached out to tug on Aoshi's sleeve, but he was already on feet.

"We shall have to finish another time."

Time had been running at a different pace as Aoshi had told his story. What a place he had chosen to stop! She thought to protest, but one look at him stopped her short. He looked wearier than she had seen him since he had first returned to Kyoto. The rest of the story in Arabia did not have a happy ending, she would wager. Though it pained her to not hear that ending, it could wait until they returned to the Aoiya that night.

They gathered themselves and made their way back up to the road from the garden. The sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon and all the world was being drawn behind an orange curtain of light. The wind has also begun to die down and the sound of early crickets was a constant in the day's last heat-burdened throes. Judging by the clouds stacking up in the east, it was doubtful that the next evening would be so unseasonably warm. Aoshi could just make out their puffy gray peaks through the tops of the trees. Now and again, they were laced with lightning. Misao noticed them too, and said a silent prayer begging the gods to stave off any storms until she and all the others had made it safely to the theatre.

The two of them continued in silence until they reached the main road. From where they stood, they could see that Hiko must have packed up his wares shortly after they had left him. His cart, and many of the other vendors, had cleared out of the market. The only person left was the comb-seller, who had nearly finished packing everything into crates. A young man, presumably her grandson, had arrived with a donkey and was helping her load a rickety wagon.

Misao did not see them finish. She and Aoshi began to make their way into the city and soon hailed a carriage. Inside, they both watched as the buildings raced past. The driver was a superb navigator, and managed to get them through the heavy evening crowds with haste. They arrived at Shirobeko with minutes to spare and found that they were the first to arrive. Tae and Sae were both waiting with smiles on. They had arrived much earlier and begun preparations. In light of how many guests they were to receive (and, Misao imagined with a smirk, the fact the Sanosuke and Yahiko would be present), they had closed the entire restaurant and bought enough food to feed and army.

They found a table just as Kaoru, Kenshin and a slew of others began to arrive. They were all smiles – even the Battosai – and filled with stories about their adventures around Kyoto. Misao, for her part, found their presence comforting and was soon lost in conversation. Haru had made it known he would not be able to make it to Shirobeko so she took up a seat between Aoshi and Tsubame without guilt.

All in all, that evening was to be one that Misao would remember fondly for the rest of her days. She did not know what was to come, and perhaps that was better. Sometimes the universe offered up gifts just as a loving friend might. Still, it was only proper to repay such gifts, and it was a sad truth that the universe found cruelty to be the only adequate temiyage.

So it was: that night, Shinomori Shinzai paid a promised visit to his older brother.


	17. Chapter 17: Sonezaki Shinjû

Notes to the fans:

SIX MONTHS. Disgraceful. But here it is.

…in other news, I have my tickets to Japan! That's right! This fangirl will be hitting up Osaka and Kyoto this April. Hopefully inspiration will strike! It's been almost seven years since I started writing this story and we're only 2/3 of the way through! Here's hoping I can work much faster…or else it will be 2015 before we're done! If you've stuck around this long, I sincerely thank you.

As always, Love you guys!

**Chapter 17**

**_Sonezaki Shinjû_**

Dinner was too short and the ride through the city streets from Shirobeko to the theatre district hallucinatory. Sunlight fled to the west, bleeding away and throwing the street under the shroud of moon-blue velvet embroidered with gathering thunderheads. As the wedding party's parade of carriages wove through the streets and into the gathering twilight, the city swam around them. Lamps were lit as they passed. They were like flaring meteors slipping away into the world behind them in slow motion. Misao felt as though she were dreaming. Though the ride was anything but smooth, she barely felt a thing. She thought only of one person: Aoshi. He was two carriages ahead, with Himura and Kaoru. He may as well have been in another part of the city.

She found herself unmoved, even by the story he had told before they had gone to meet everyone for dinner. Numb: this was the proper word. It was a story of the past; a story about all of the little things that had propelled them into the present. How terrible a world! She should have been overjoyed – a bride on her way to her groom, a young woman on her way to the theatre, and a lady surrounded by an entourage of friends – instead she was miserable. The city was alive and well and she diminishing despite its vibrant glow. Aoshi's story had initially sustained her, but now it left her cold. Even surrounded by friends, she could not dredge up enthusiasm.

Tsubame was seated beside her. She laughed and pointed and gently shook her shoulder now and again. Yahiko, seated opposite, was beaming and had cheeks red from sake and excitement. Beside him, Sano was smiling and patting his beef-pot-bloated belly. Misao envied them more than anything else. Putting on her best fake smile, she sat forward and began to point out landmarks and all of the things that made Kyoto home.

It was not long before they arrived at the theatre. One-by-one, they all piled out on the street. Misao was last one to emerge and she was immediately surrounded by the other women. Kaoru had left Kenji with Sae, who had been too tired to join them. Thus freed from responsibility for her son, she began to focus on Misao instead, fixing hair before she'd even stepped away from the carriage. Omasu, next in line, smoothed her kimono. Ochika, with help from Megumi, straightened her obi. Misao was not used to such primping. She let them go about their business before being ushered forward to the theatre doors. Aoshi was already there, with the boxed sake set. He held the door, nodding at her once as they all entered.

Haru's parents were waiting just inside. They had not gone to sit down, preferring to wait for their guests to arrive. Of course, Misao and those from Aoiya had already met them, but introductions still proved a daunting task. Aoshi was the most interested of the lot to meet the future in-laws. In fact, he had been waiting since he had first met Haru. It was Okina who took control and began the delicate social dance of presenting the proper people in suitable order. As the old man did so, Aoshi hung back and began to assess what he thought to be their character.

The Namatagas were not what one would have expected. After knowing Haru for as short a time as he had, Aoshi expected the man's parents to be as unscrupulous as their son. Instead, Mr. Namataga turned out to be a tall, dignified man with thick waves of glossy silver hair. Mrs. Namataga was shorter than her husband by a head and had a stockier figure. She stood beside him, smiling and with hands clasped before her. Aoshi found his eyes drawn to her hair. The raven and gray strands mingled with a single delicate string of pearls and were pulled back by a bone comb.

"Ah! My son's friends from the Aoiya…and a few more I should think!" Mr. Namataga's voice boomed up from within him.

Okina stepped forward and the two older men bowed respectfully. The rest of them followed suit. Aoshi noticed that Mrs. Namataga tried her best, but in the end could only incline her head ever so slightly. One hand went to her back, and she offered an apologetic smile. Aoshi felt immense respect. There was no shame or embarrassment in her eyes, only a kindly and amused smile. It was the smile of a samurai, if only she had been a man and born into a different station. Aoshi had seen few women like her before, and he found himself wondering how one such as her could ever have borne something like Haru.

"Ah! Forgive me, Mr. Namataga." As Okina stood, his bones creaked. "Indeed, the Aoiya is quite full right now. Misao's guests from Tokyo and abroad have arrived. They are all here tonight. I must thank you for your generosity – "

"Me? It was my fool of a son who arranged all this! He only told us to expect extra company. Imagine our surprise when we arrived to find he had reserved the whole high balcony table!"

Mrs. Namataga chuckled, "My husband forgets himself. We are glad to have all of you here. These are certainly many of the faces that we will see in the future. As friends of Misao's, they are immediately friends of ours. Please, do introduce us to everyone, Okina-dono."

Okina ran through everyone's names quickly, ticking them off on his fingers. When he ran out of fingers he resorted to looking at his feet as though they held some secret number that would help him through things.

The last to be shown to Mr. Namataga were Kenshin and Aoshi himself. Misao's soon-to-be father-in-law addressed the manslayer first.

"Oh-ho! A face I recognize! You were one of the emperor's demons Himura-dono, were you not?"

Under the older man's scrutiny, Kenshin could only chuckle nervously. One hand went to the back of his head and the other to his chin. "Indeed Namataga-dono. You fought in the Bakumatsu, then?"

"No, no. My wife wouldn't have let me! I was involved in…intelligence shall we say…ah! But that is nothing! Giving a few spies a meal and a bed to sleep in is hardly anything noteworthy. Aoshi-san!"

Aoshi, who had been watching Misao rather than the exchange, turned to face Mr. Namataga. He bowed hastily.

"I understand that you brought up Misao for a time."

There was no threat in the old man's voice, but Aoshi could sense something less than kind in his tone. He was unsure why and answered carefully. "You've heard correctly. Only for a time though. Perhaps three years? Maybe a bit more."

"Tell me, have you any objections to Haru and Misao's union?"

Ah. So here it was.

Of course Mr. Namataga would have heard from Haru about his little visit to the police station. No doubt Haru would have tried to make himself out as the innocent one, and Aoshi as an unreasonable and over-protective beast. There was no way of knowing exactly what Namataga thought of him, but Aoshi could at least understand the emotions the old man was masking. His son was his pride and joy.

Aoshi, the pseudo-father of Haru's bride-to-be was one of the few people in the world that could stand between Haru and happiness.

The ex-okashira chose his words carefully and looked down respectfully. "Any objection I might give could certainly be contradicted."

It was true, of course, and the old man knew it. A smile made the corners of Mr. Namataga's mouth jump. He made as though to speak, but it was at that moment that Haru decided to arrive.

"Sorry to be late! A police officer from another city was at the station today, and I was detained for a bit longer than I thought…"

He came striding through the theatre doors, removing his hat with one hand and keeping one arm folded behind his back as he made his way to them. The smile on his face was genuine. When he reached Misao, he snapped his feet together and bowed low. With dramatic flair, he produced two large bouquets of lilies. He handed the first to her and planted a kiss upon her cheek. She had been looking wan and distressed since stepping out of the carriage. It galled Aoshi to see her eyes brighten at such a greeting.

Haru looked down at her fondly for a moment before stepping around and handing the second bouquet to his mother. She smiled and responded with the same straight-backed bow.

This reminded Aoshi. He had set the box containing the sake and serving set at his feet during the introductions. In one quick motion, he swept it back into his arms and looked to Misao.

"Oh!" She cried. "Namataga-dono! I have a gift for you and would be honored if you would accept it."

She handed her flowers to Omasu and joined Aoshi. At his side, she began to unwrap the delicate porcelain. The moment the first sake cup was revealed, murmurs surrounded them on all sides. Mrs. Namataga came closer to inspect it. She took it and brought a hand to her mouth.

"Misao-chan, how lovely!"

Mr. Namataga could have cared less about the pretty set. He immediately went to Aoshi and took up the bottle of sake. He turned it over and read the label before nodding.

"Ah! Excellent! This will come with us to our table I think. Misao, we are honored to accept these, as we are honored to accept you and your friends into our family."

Aoshi would have thought Haru would have been jealous. His spotlight had been stolen and it was not he who stood beside Misao as she presented her temiyage. Instead, Aoshi found that he was gazing upon his bride-to-be with tenderness.

Aoshi had to look away. With introductions complete, attention swiftly shifted from the Temiyage to Haru and Misao. Chatter lingered on the wedding and the plans. Omasu dodged questions about the kimono. Tsubame said she had never been to the theatre before and Mrs. Namataga took her under her wing, pulling the young girl close and telling her about all the beautiful make-up and costumes she was soon to see. They might have all stood there like a great gaggle of cackling geese had a gong not rung out somewhere inside the theatre, sending them all flocking up the stairs and to the high tables.

It was practically a stampede. Kenshin and Aoshi found themselves bringing up the rear. Neither man would have said so, but they were glad to be moving along. At first, they walked in silence, watching the spectacle before them unfolding like a play all its own. The women were gathered together, clucking and crowing as they made their way to the balcony table. At the front of the group, Yahiko and Sano were clearly in a competition to see who was a bigger idiot. Okina and the Namatagas were entertained at least. Aoshi could see Okina visibly struggling to maintain his composure. Each time the old man's eyes met Misao's, she gave him a pleading look. This only made the ends of his moustache twitch as he tried desperately not to smile.

Misao was making her way up the steps beside Haru, of course. One arm was tucked beneath his and their postures was one of shared mortification. If Misao was embarrassed by the behavior of her friends from Tokyo, Haru was horrified by the way his parents gobbled up Sano's ridiculous jokes and Yahiko's dreadful attempts at slapstick.

The lights grew dimmer the further up they went. Aoshi soon lost interest in the spectacle before him. He turned his attention to Himura. The manslayer was usually at ease amongst other people. Even the horrors of the Bakumatsu has not stolen his ability to interact with others. Still, he had been silent since his introduction to Mr. Namataga. Aoshi knew it was not memories brought on by such a new acquaintance; it was something much more sinister. Something was not right, and Aoshi had taken just slightly longer than Kenshin to notice.

The air in the theatre felt stale and suffocating. The shadows gathered strangely along the ceiling and the lights seemed too eager to avoid certain corners, as if their beams were purposeful.

And yet, Aoshi knew they were not purposeful. There was something else making the usual bustling atmosphere of the theatre seem heavy. It seemed not to affect the others, but both warriors felt it like a painful pinprick between the shoulderblades.

"Qi." Kenshin whispered. "It is bitter, that it is."

Aoshi nodded his agreement and suppressed a shudder. There was a darkness and a malice slithering underneath the boisterous joy of all the theatre goers. It was an ill-will that slipped and slid in the little crease where floor met wall. It oozed along the floor and beneath tables, where and curled around chair legs. A snake: that was what it made him think of.

"Best be vigilant, Aoshi-dono." Kenshin muttered and bowed his head.

They had reached the top of the stairs and, more to everyone's relief, the table. It was the highest spot in the entire theatre, on a level above the other seats and tables. I was set for exactly their number and lined with cups already brimming with sake. Flowers and food was laid out in such abundance that it was hard to tell where blossoms ended and pastries began. The women let out a collective murmur and surged towards the table, their purpose and strides matched only by Yahiko and Sanosuke, who were the first to be seated. The two of them dove in and began shoving treats in their face without so much as a thought for decorum.

Misao, who had already been pale after witnessing their antics on the stairs, looked positively ghostlike. It was Mrs. Namataga who set a new tone to put her and the others at ease.

"Would you look at that! I haven't seen anyone eat like that since Haru was a boy! Come now, everyone find a seat! You'll want to be comfortable and with a full plate in front of you before the show starts.

They all set to finding seats. Mr and Mrs. Namataga took the very center seats. Haru took a seat beside his mother and Misao beside Mr. Namataga accordingly. Okina was next. He quickly stole into the chair beside Misao. Poor Tsubame was stuck with the boorish boys who were alongside Okina. He gave them a look that did nothing more than to make their frantic gluttony a quieter affair, if only because it made them eat in earnest. Okina might have taken some for himself if they didn't set to it properly, after all.

Aoshi had to smile when he saw Megumi draw up beside Tsubame, stopping first to whack Sano and Yahiko across the backs of their heads. She took the end seat of the table.

As everyone found their way to their seats, Aoshi's only concern was that he would be forced to endure the show while sitting beside Haru. His fears were allayed when Omasu took up that seat, while Emiko and Ochika took up beside her and Kaoru after that. It left the last two seats on the end of the table for he and Himura.

It Aoshi had actually let out a sigh of relief it might have been loud enough to catch the attention of the entire theatre. Instead, he took the last seat at the end of the table after Kenshin sat beside Kaoru. Once comfortable he began to survey the room.

It was a lavish theatre built in the Western style, with a vaulted ceiling lush with paintings, silk hangings and the tinkling of a dozen crystal chandeliers. Still, it was entirely Japanese, built around a great Kabuki stage, with all its trap doors and hidden mechanics. Tables had also replaced the great gathering of seats he had seen in another theatre during his time in Europe. Rows and rows of them stacked up towards the back of the theatre. Some were piled with food while others held only drinks and the folded hands of those seated at them. Gold, black and bright saffron rioted in the carpets and curtains, made more lovely and luxurious by the table's stark white table cloths. Even lit by candlelight, the white tablecloths defiantly brightened the room as the large chandeliers grew ever dimmer.

There was the persistent wail of a violin somewhere, whispering beneath the constant rumble of the audience. Now and again it rose to a sharp shriek that set Aoshi to grinding his teeth. It was supposed to be something beautiful. Instead it grated. No one else seemed to notice, but it was as pervasive as the feeling of unease that had risen to dread since leaving the lobby of the theatre. He was just beginning to think the sound would drive him to madness when a bell rang out. The violin and much of the crowd fell silent.

Aoshi scanned the room for anything amiss, but saw nothing. Happy theatre-goers were ushered to their seats, the lights began to go out completely. Someone coughed somewhere in the false twilight. A woman at the table in front of them whispered something to the man beside her. He gave a short laugh and was shushed by an old woman a few tables farther ahead.

The lights came up on stage. The world was perfectly still for a split moment before the voice of a narrator rose up in tandem with the increasingly frantic sound of hyoshigi.

The long night had begun.

Later, what happened would seem like a dream – a nightmare.

_Sonezaki Shinjû _was not what Aoshi had expected. He doubted that Haru had known the play when he had selected it. Two lovers, kept apart by society and circumstance made the ultimate sacrifice for one another: their very lives. It was a tale of desperation, devotion and suicide. Aoshi could not look away, but to steal glances towards the center of the table. There, beside her bored and disinterested fiancé, Misao was weeping. The evening was racing towards the midnight hour and the final act drawing to a close.

On stage, Ohatsu extended her foot towards Tokubei. Her head was tilted ever-so slightly and her eyes open wide as she asked in silence: "shall we die together?" The high notes of a flute followed by a clatter of drums rose up: the song of lovers followed by a pounding heart. Tokubei was unable to speak in front of the others, lest their plans be laid bare. Instead, he gave his ascent by reaching up and gently touching her ankle. Thus the lovers made their pact to die in the forests surrounding Sonezaki, without ever uttering words.

Aoshi watched this, keenly aware of the darkness beyond the edges of the stage. It made him nervous and reminded him of the dread he had felt as they had made their way inside the theatre. Then it had made him think of a slithering black snake – a sly and unseen danger.

Now, all he could think of was a panther.

He didn't even realize what he was doing until he was already on his feet. Far below on stage, Ohatsu and Tokubei were stumbling into the forest arm in arm. Behind them, no more than a ghost in the pale mist made of rippling and frothing silk, was a man. He dipped into and out of sight, slinking towards the edge of the stage and then deeper into the theatre. The audience, so enthralled with the two lovers, did not see. Even if they had they might have thought him another actor there to represent the lovers' impending death.

But Aoshi saw and recognized the shape of a swordsman making his way backstage with nefarious intent. He did not excuse himself, but his departure was hardly noted. With Sonezaki Shinju coming to its dramatic conclusion onstage, all were rapt. Kenshin alone saw, and he paused before following. Kaoru grabbed at him as he went, but made no true protest when he stopped and muttered that he would return.

This brief exchange allowed Aoshi a head start. He fled down the stairs, towards the back of the theatre and into the hallway behind the stage. So swift was he that he left candle-light flickering in his wake. As he drew his sword he passed a startled man resplendent in stage make-up. To his left, laughter, chatter and singing bubbled beneath the doors he. He barely heard it. Far ahead of him, the shadow of the man he pursued slipped around corners seconds too soon.

He would lose his chance to catch him if he did not hurry.

Once, he paused to duck through a small door, spinning as the curtains barring the way flipped up and over him. Then it was down a small set of stairs and a brief dance around a girl carrying a tray of tea as she emerged from a door to his right. Too intent to even mutter an apology, he simply steadied her tray before he darted around another corner. He looked up just in time to see the man dash out an open door and into the alley beyond. There had been a man in the doorway – a stagehand – smoking a cigarette. He was knocked off his feet. Aoshi stopped for a moment to help him up and was rewarded with a blow that sent him tumbling outside and into the pouring rain.

Over the din inside the theater it had been impossible to hear the rain start, but Aoshi knew it must have started sometime before. There were already puddles gathering in the hollows left by uneven cobbles and he landed in once. He was on his feet in an instant, sword grasped firmly in his hands. The man who had booted him was yelling.

"Hey! Whatever is going on between you two, keep it outside! This is a respectable establishment! Ai!"

The door slammed shut. Aoshi barely noticed, for he had already found his opponent in the storm-swept night. The alley was lit by a single gas lamp. Wavering limbs of darkness shuddered along the walls. A wild curtain of rain whispered along the cobbles and ran in waterfalls over the edges of roofs. Aoshi stood just outside the theatre door and massaged the elbow he had banged on the way out.

"Shinomori Aoshi."

The man he had pursed stood at the opening of the alley and grinned. His teeth glittered in the lamplight, the only thing visible beneath the brim of a bamboo hat. When he spoke, his voice was nearly lost in the wind. It was like the hiss of a serpent, akin to the sound of the falling rain. Aoshi knew the voice all too well.

Shinzai was different than Aoshi remembered. Of course, some of that difference was obvious. They had been children when everything changed; when they last saw one another. Shinzai had been a pudgy, conniving bully: a brutish animal. Now, in adulthood, he had grown into a solid, well-muscled monster, dark-eyed and demon-like. Aoshi was sick to his stomach thinking of all those his brother had likely destroyed in the process of completely blackening his soul. One did not become such a beast without mangling and desolating. Shinzai was like a great and terrible dragon, complete with pointed teeth and shadows that gathered around him like wings.

"Shinzai." The name felt like poison dribbling between his teeth. "I thought the old farmhand took care of you. So you survived the great upheaval. I might have known a worm like you could dig in and wait things out underground."

Shinzai chuckled and drew the back of his wrist beneath his crooked nose. "Pah! They used to call me 'old snake skin', remember? I earned that name, you see. When things got bad and the servants looked too keen on crunching my bones, I fled. I left some old sacks of grain in my bed. Most of my accomplices were not so lucky as I in escaping. Pity. It's hard to find good help these days."

Aoshi favored him with a look of the coldest hatred he could muster.

Shinzai pursed his lips. "How cute you are when you pout. You always were a good-looking boy. Still, you're not so quick as you once were, brother. All of that high-class entertainment must be numbing your senses. I might be halfway to Tokyo by now and you'd still be quibbling with the doorman. As far as I can tell, he has a better swing than you do. "

"So kind of you to say so, dear brother. I am glad to see you too. What is it that you want?"

Shinzai laughed outright and removed his hat.

"I would have thought my letter made that quite clear. You became a great warrior and I became nothing but a thief! A mongrel! I took what you were too weak to protect and still you stand before me the richer man. Tell me: what justice is there in that? You are a murderer just as I, but instead the new era remembers you as a warrior. I was one who saw what was rightfully mine and took it by strength alone, with no pretty swordsmanship. Now the world sees me as low! I have done nothing for ten years but squirm in the earth, as you so said. Now I see my brother living happily at Aoiya and – "

"You speak out of turn. I have nothing of happiness there."

Aoshi said the words too quickly and knew it. He wished he could grab them back even as Shinzai laughed and drew a knife from his belt.  
"My brother, the martyr. You sign your love away in the same cowardly fashion that you signed our father's land over to me. Did you not learn that such obsequiousness breeds weakness? Look at you! Pathetic."

Aoshi shook his head and slid a foot back. He raised his lone kodachi in defiance."I may not be the strongest in Japan, but I have seen enough to make me stronger than you. Come, little brother. Come and see for yourself what your cruelty has truly wrought."

"I will come, and my blade – my "Kiss of Steel" – will show you how wrong you are."

They both moved at once, each with his own liquid grace. Shizai was like an ocean wave, seemed to suck backwards before surging forward with unstoppable force. Aoshi was ever a tiger. He slunk forward before leaping like lighting from sky to earth; the motion itself never seen but for a flash of light and energy. Normally thunder would have followed, but there in the alley there was only the ringing of steel. Both came to a halt, their places now reversed. Aoshi turned quickly, dropping to a crouch. He brother was more casual, turning his head first and letting the rest of his body follow.

One of Shizai's silk sleeves was torn and a thin thread of blood slid from his nose.

"Not bad."

Aoshi bared his teeth and they both leapt again. This time, Shinzai was faster. They came together and struggled. Blades flashed. The wind rose to a howling roar and Aoshi turned aside against the lash of the rain. Shinzai took the chance and thrust his little knife forward. Aoshi turned and caught the blade beneath his ribs. He felt the blinding stab of pain at his side. It was so sharp! He had been wounded many times before, but this pain! He nearly dropped his kodachi and he felt himself grunt involuntarily. Quickly regaining his composure, he jumped back – no, stumbled was more like it – just quickly enough to avoid the fist that Shinzai aimed at his lower lip. He sheathed his blade and threw his hands up before him, ready to use fists where sword had failed.

But Shinzai withdrew into the dark, chuckling.

"You! You recoil from my embrace? Did you find my kiss unpleasant?"

"Kiss, eh?" The words were strained as they left Aoshi's lips. He struggled to stand up straight. Even as he did, he had to put a hand to his side. Leaning to the right eased the pain a bit.

Ai! It was a new sort of pain for a man who knew pain intimately. Aoshi would have been lying if he had said he was not frightened.

"Heh, heh. A kiss of steel. Extra sharp too: steel and glass. My kiss is the sort of gift that continues giving."

_Glass. Of course. _Each time he shifted, the ache in his side redoubled. For the first time Aoshi noticed how strangely Shinzai's knife glittered in the lamplight. Shards of glass laced its edges.

"Heh, heh! Caught you off guard, didn't I? Probably thinking about your little Misao in the arms of dearest Haru. That man! If you only knew –"

Aoshi shifted his gaze to Shinzai so quickly that it made his vision swim. "If only I knew what?"

"Ah! I would ease your suffering and tell you, but what fun is the mouse if the cat cannot toy with it first?"

"And how, pray tell, do you plan to toy with me?"

"What fun would it be if you knew? I shall leave it a surprise dear brother." He paused and leaned back on his heels. "I had to see you tonight, you know. It has been so long, and I knew you would be here. I had to see your face." Here there was a change in Shinzai's voice, but before Aoshi could read it, it was gone.

"Well, you've seen it. Now what?"

"I could smash it in."

"Lovely suggestion."

"Or I could give you some scars to remember me by."

"How kind."

"Perhaps I'll simply give you a black eye."

"No doubt it would suit my complexion."

"Heh! You are the same as you always were. You don't appear the slightest bit afraid."

"Should I be?"

Even in the gloom, Aoshi could see Shinzai grinning. His teeth flashed as much as his eyes.

Aoshi shifted and groaned involuntarily. He was more hurt than he would have liked to admit. He couldn't understand how he had been so stupid! Here he was, at Shinzai's mercy. He could most likely hold his own still, but now for long. If his brother got near enough with his knife again, Aoshi would be in trouble. Part of being as successful a warrior meant knowing when you were beat, and beat he most certainly was. He had grown complacent. Men on the continent were soft, dull minded and disgraceful fighters. All his time spent there had led him to expect less out of his opponents.

And if there was one man he should have been wary of, it was his brother.

He had failed himself and that was worse than anything else. Furtively, he took in his surroundings. His brother seemed relaxed for the moment, and that would save him where nothing else might. Shinzai was reclined lazily against the wall of the alley, eyes cunning and confident. He knew he had Aoshi right where he wanted him. If Aoshi tried to run, he could catch him easily in the street. Shinzai knew his brother too well, anyway: he would not run and he would not want to take the fight where it might involve others.

Aoshi watched him coolly. He controlled his breathing and held his side with his left hand. His right hand was at the hilt of his Kodachi. Shinzai held his little knife in one hand and the other was balled into a fist.

Neither spoke.

It was impossible to know how long that silence might have carried on. It might have lasted until dawn, had the door behind them not opened again. There was shouting: the poor stagehand. The man yelled threats while another voice that Aoshi knew too well told him to stand aside for the police.

Saito Hajime.

Aoshi turned just in time. His eyes met those of both a hitokiri and a wolf. Another wave of pain sent fog filtering into his head before he could even start to wonder how Saito had come to be there. He looked up and gaped like a fish. Then, forming their names with his lips, he fell to his knees without making a sound.

How quickly we lose our ability to stand.

Saito shed his gloves as he stepped out into the rain. He was breathing hard, but there was a measured and smoldering anger in his eyes. Kenshin, to his credit, appeared unruffled. His sakabato was naked, resting easily along the length of his arm. Its hilt sat gently in the palm of one hand. Glowering at Shinzai, he spoke.

"I do not know who you are, that I don't." His eyes never left Aoshi's, even as he fell into his beginning stance. "But this one suggests you put away that knife."


	18. Chapter 18: Brother

Chapter 18! In short order, as promised. I played with breaks in the text in order to portray the frenetic passing of time during grief. Successful or distracting? Feedback appreciated.

Also: less than three weeks until I'm rockin' Osaka! I'm flying in via Tokyo, so I get to fly over the whole area where Kenshin and crew get up to shenanigans. And then. And then. And then. KYOTO! This fangirl is about to have some real-life research opportunities, so whatever I write when I get back…there will be no excuses.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. ENJOY.

**Chapter 18**

**Brother**

"I do not know who you are, that I don't." Kenshin's eyes never Aoshi's, even as he shifted into his beginning stance. "But this one suggests you put away the knife."

The air was filled with a buzzing tension. It rose up to fill the void left as the storm eased. The rain slowed, the thunder grew distant and the alley quiet. Shinzai looked upon his two new opponents and favored them with a sneer. Side by side, wolf and Hitokiri would have been enough to make any other man tremble. It thrilled Shinzai. He tilted his head to the side and twirled the knife around his fingers by the handle.

It was Saito who spoke next. He drew his sword. "Such manners Himura has. He suggests; I demand. Put down your knife and I'll go easy on you."

Shinzai laughed and stood up straight. Back rigid and chin raised, he cut and imposing figure: he towered over Kenshin and even managed to make Saito appear slight and frail by comparison.

"Easy on me, hm? You say that with sword drawn and murder in your eyes. I am no fool."

"You see murder in my eyes and still defy me. You _are_ a fool."

To the side, Aoshi continued to gasp for breath. He watched with growing horror. White spots, bright as any star, were beginning to dance across his vision. The pain in his side had faded to a throbbing ache and was still sharp enough around the edges to push him towards the edge of madness. He ground his teeth: being still wasn't an option. Shinzai was sizing up his opponents and would soon attack. Like his younger brother, he was not one to run. He would fight and he would wound where he could. Perhaps it was the same fierce pride that had driven Aoshi to believe he could ever beat Kenshin. Perhaps it was madness. Most likely, it was a little of both.

With a cry of agony, Aoshi attempted to draw to his feet. He could not remain idle. As he slipped and lost purchase on the cobbles, he could not have known how pathetic he looked. He nearly made it at first, only to collapse when a wave of dizziness struck him. When he hit the grown, pain exploded through his chest like fireworks. The white spots in front of his eyes briefly turned an ominous black. He gasped and a moan whispered through his teeth.

Kenshin cried out. Saito was closer.

Ever stubborn, Aoshi set his jaw and attempted to stand again. This time, he was stopped by a hard rap between his shoulder blades. He fell, shuddered and rolled onto his back. When he opened his eyes, he say a wolf glaring down at him.

"Stay."

There was no amusement in Saito's eyes. If Aoshi hadn't thought he was delirious, he might have imagined he saw concern.

"Can't keep yourself out of trouble can you, Shinomori?"

Aoshi smiled. His teeth were red with blood. He tried to say "_so it would seem_", but nothing came out. Instead, he rolled onto his side, coughed and spit a molar onto the pavement.

"I thought as much." Saito sighed and stepped out of his line of sight.

From where Kenshin stood, he saw Shinzai watching the exchange. Shinzai appeared nonplussed. He stopped twirling the little knife and held it still. If any of Aoshi's blood had been on it, the recently departed rain had already cleaned it. The glass lacing the edge glittered: a dazzling threat. It was not finished tasting flesh.

"I won't even pretend to care who started this." Saito eyed the knife and stepped forward. "I tell you now: it ends this moment. You're under arrest, Shinomori Shinzai."

"Oro?" Kenshin exclaimed. He brought a hand to the back of his head and let loose and tremulous laugh. "This man is related to Aoshi-dono?"

"Yes. Seems Aoshi here has been interminably rude. He's had a brother all this time and failed to introduce us. No need to have, anyway. I've had my eyes on this one. A real troublemaker in the underground."

Behind Saito, Aoshi coughed. He managed to draw himself to his knees. Neither Hitokiri nor wolf stirred, but Shinzai stole a glance. He snarled, baring his teeth and widening his eyes.

"Sounds like my little brother, all right. Always a disgrace."

"Ah, so that runs in the family then." Saito smirked.

Shinzai did not take that particular jab very well. His snarl melted into a grimace.

"Disgrace? Me? Choice words coming from one of the Shogunate's dogs. Tell me _Goro_-san – "

"Oh-hoh! He knows my name as I know his. Shall I applaud him, Himura?

Shinzai spit and rattled on. " – when did this ex-Shinsengumi loose his teeth?"

In the distance, the fading thunder growled. A moment of quiet descended. Saito did not answer at first. To both Kenshin and Shinzai's surprise, he began to laugh.

" This cub before me seeks to belittle a wolf. Stupid. You seem to forget that even old wolves without fangs still have a whole set of claws."

Shinzai began to play with the knife again. He looked to where Aoshi still kneeled. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. For the first time of the evening, he seemed humble.

"Gatotsu."

"Yes," Saito snapped. "Very good: you're not a complete idiot. You would do well to stand down and come quietly, as I said before."

"I think not, Goro-san. I've spent too much time perfecting my knife work to walk away. Are you ready for me, wolf?"

Beyond the alley, night was complete. The world was still: even the storms that fled westward seemed to pause in deference. Lighting lanced along the horizon but was not shadowed by thunder. Directly overhead, clouds ran past in tatters. Their edges set shadows scattering, chased by moonlight. For the first time, it was bright enough to see Shinzai clearly. He was weatherworn and wearing rags. One eye was missing, replaced with a smooth hollow that had once been a socket. Beneath a crooked nose, his mouth was pulled into a permanent scowl by a nasty scar running from chin to cheek. He had been a handsome man once, like his brother. Now he was like a scorpion, with a barbed tail and all the charm one would expect of the cousin of a spider. Kenshin felt pity for him, but even pity is not enough to save the most foul of us.

Saito was itching to enforce this truth. He made his hatred no mystery. His nostrils flared and he roared. "Come!"

Shinzai advanced the same way that he had when fighting Aoshi. He stepped back and then rushed forward. The little knife was turned to the side, running down along the outside of his wrist. Saito settled into his stance and simply waited, calm as ever. When Shinzai was nearly upon him, he thrust his blade forward and then turned it sideways in a vicious slash. He did so with such fierce strength that Shinzai caught the blow and was pushed to the side. He lashed out with the knife once, twice, three times before spinning aside and catching himself on the wall.

"Excellent! Exactly as expected!" He gasped and wiped blood from the fresh gash on his chin. "You do indeed have claws. I should never have doubted you."

Saito stood up straight. He pulled a cloth from one of his pockets and wiped his sword clean. Too much blood came away on the fabric for it to have been a simple scratch.

Shinzai's eyes narrowed. He brought a hand up to his shoulder. When he brought it away, his palm was crimson.

"Oh, Goro-san. You naughty man."

"I told you to come quietly."

"Would that I could."

Shinzai attacked again, rushing forward without warning. This time, he held the little knife out directly in front of himself. Saito easily deflected it and caught him across the back when he passed. Shinzai lost his footing and stumbled. This time he barely right himself, falling to once knee before jumping back up.

"Saito."

"Yes, Himura?"

Saito turned to look at the manslayer. Kenshin was standing with sword sheathed. There was worry in his very posture. He no longer had the eyes of a Hitokiri.

"You're going to kill him."

"Did I forget to mention that? I gave him the option to come quietly. I thought the other option was implicit."

Kenshin sighed. "This one – "

" – I _know_ what 'this one' thinks. Don't worry your pretty little head. Too much killing in self-defense and it stops looking like an accident. If it bothers you so much to watch, go get Megumi. Shinomori looks like he could use a doctor."

Kenshin glanced over to where Aoshi, forgotten for a moment, had crumpled into a heap. He had finally lost his fight for consciousness.

"Fetch the Namataga boy too." Saito continued. "I will be needing another officer."

In the corner, Shinzai laughed. "Afraid I'll run?"

"No: afraid I won't be able to drag you back to the station by myself." Saito dredged up the most pleasant smile he could muster and flashed it in Shinzai's direction. It looked more like he was in pain.

Kenshin nearly had to stifle a laugh. He nodded once when Saito turned back to him.

"Be careful."'

"I don't know the meaning of the word."

Kenshin actually did laugh at that. He gave a little bow and made his way back to the theatre door. Only once did he look over his shoulder, eyes shifting from Aoshi to Shinzai and then back. For a moment, he lingered. There was sadness about him like a cloak. There was nothing more to say; had there been , he would have had words for Aoshi. He turned slipped inside the theatre. Just before he managed to shut the door, the voice of the stagehand rang out. The last thing anyone in the alley heard was a loud "ORO!?"

Saito focused on Shinzai full then. His opponent seemed a little grayer than he had before. Still, wounded as he was, Aoshi's brother was as defiant as ever.

"So you're going to kill me then?" He growled and tried to play with his knife as he had before. His fingers were shaking too badly.

"Of course I am. While some would much rather see you rot in jail, you can do so much more efficiently in the ground. I just had to get rid of Battousai. I didn't want him droning on about mercy or some such nonsense."

"I think we could have been friends in another life, Goro-san."

"You flatter yourself. Shall we?"

Shinzai fell to a crouch and the blade of the knife between his teeth. The glittering glass edge cut easily into his lips, but he did not flinch.

"It is your turn to come to me."

And so Saito did.

xxxxxxx

The main show had already ended. The actors were streaming out onto the stage for their final bow when Kenshin returned to the table. He went to Kaoru first and leaned over, whispering in her ear. She looked up at him, stifled a gasp and then peered down the length of the table at Misao. He whispered again and Kaoru nodded. She turned back to the stage and was attentive once more, if not a little bit paler.

He went to Mrs. Namataga and Haru next. What he told her made the older woman laugh. The words he had for Haru did not bring equal mirth. Haru muttered an apology and got to his feet. His mouth was set in a tight line and his eyes dark. Misao peered around her father-in-law-to-be. She clutched a handkerchief, her brow furrowed. It was only when Kenshin went to Megumi that she got to her feet. She excused herself before Mr. Namataga and Okina in the same way Haru had done.

Misao went to her fiancé and they had a little spat, arguing in soft tones and making animated gestures. It was only when she set her jaw and crossed her arms over her chest that Haru relented. Both of them slipped away after Kenshin and Megumi. Only Kaoru and Mrs. Namataga watched them go.

Together, the four of them made their way along the edge of the theatre in silence. The audience was beginning to stir, getting to their feet and clapping. One of the actors, his very serious role cast aside, was sashaying back and forth. The delicate kimono he wore stretched and twisted in a decidedly unfeminine fashion. The action drew laughter and kept attention off of the four people slipping backstage.

Kenshin and the others made it to the back of the theatre in record time. When they came upon the stagehand by the back door, he was nursing his head. At the sight of Kenshin, he glared and waved them on with an exasperated sigh.

What they found in the alley was a scene very different from the one Kenshin had left. Shinzai was on his back in a pool that looked black in the moonlight. His one eye was open wide, staring on into forever. The hat he had worn was crushed and clutched in one lifeless hand. Not far from him, Saito was crouched beside Aoshi. He had rolled the ex-Okashira onto his side. Between two fingers, he held a tooth. When the four burst into the alley, his gaze slowly rolled towards them. He stood and inclined his head.

"Megumi-dono, if you please. Aoshi – "

Misao realized what had happened in that moment. The world stopped. Her voice, raised in a wordless cry, cut across what Saito said next, drowning it out entirely. She had been holding Haru's hand tightly when they entered the alley. At the sight of Aoshi lying on the cobbles, she let go. She crossed the space between them and fell to her knees, heedless of the blood and rain that soaked through the silk of her expensive kimono. Megumi joined her in short order, grabbing her wrists. She had been clawing at his chest, trying to see the wound that had loosed so much blood.

"Misao-chan! Stop this instant! Do you want to hurt him more?"

The younger woman moaned and brought one hand to her mouth and the other to her cheek. She scooted backwards on her knees, unaware that the hand she brought to her face left a bloody print behind. She rocked and keened while Megumi tore open Aoshi's shirt using a glittering knife that Saito unceremoniously handed her. He turned, passed Misao and went on to Haru. As he went, he briefly placed a hand on her head.

For only her ears, he muttered. "Fret not. Himura and I arrived just in time."

His confidence eased her terror. She reached up and took his hand. Expressionless, he gently pulled it from her grasp and went to where Kenshin and Haru stood.

"Fancy seeing you here, Namataga."

Haru, watching Misao, responded with anger.

"What is the meaning of all this? What happened here?"

Saito pulled a cigarette and a match from one pocket. He lit it before answering.

"Common thief. Shinomori here tried to stop him, but it turns out this man was a little more cunning that he thought. Lucky I was here with my wife enjoying the show just as you were. Himura here saw Shinomori get up to leave and followed. He saw me when he passed by our table – "

"He might have just asked me." At this his gaze finally shifted to meet Saito's.

Saito took a long drag and shrugged. "Probably didn't want to bother you and alarm the rest of your party."

Haru snorted and looked past him once more. When he caught sight of Shinzai, something flashed in his eyes. His lips pulled back from his teeth. "Common thief, hm?"

Kenshin watched him closely. "Yes, Haru-dono."

"Anyway," Saito continued. "Everything is in hand now. The show is over, so you'll forgive me if I tell you that I'll need you to come with me."

At this, Haru's demeanor changed. The anger left his face along with the color that had risen on his cheeks. "B-but Goro-dono! You just said you have this under control. My family, my bride – "

" –will do just fine with each others' company. A man has been killed. There will be questions…and paperwork, _Officer Namataga._"

The look that crossed Haru's face was one of perfect disdain. "I suppose you're right. A moment, if you please."

He excused himself with a bow and went to Misao. There, he dropped to one knee and whispered something in her ear. Distraught, she put bother her hands on his chest and managed to choke out a response. Megumi chose that moment to speak up.

"Himura! Please fetch Sano and Yahiko. I cannot dress this here and I doubt that Aoshi will be able to walk of his own accord anytime soon."

Misao moaned again. Haru pressed her head gently to his shoulder and placed a kiss on her ear. A few more words of murmured comfort and he got to his feet. It was then that the rest of the crew decided to arrive.

Kenshin had no need to fetch anyone. Sanosuke threw open the door and nearly sent the manslayer flying. There was thunder in his eyes.

"Hey! What's this? You are leave the table and don't ask me to come along. You're a real jerk Kenshin, you know that?"

"Yeah! What the heck?" Yahiko piped up behind him.

Omasu and Ochika were in the background helping the stagehand to his feet. He batted them away and muttered something about "tonight being over my pay-grade" and stalked away. Both women hid laughter in their palms. Kaoru was there too, and Tsubame. Only the Namatagas, Okina and Emiko were not present.

They all saw Aoshi's prone form at once.

"Move over, ya big dummies!" Kaoru was the first to step outside. She pinched both men's ears and pushed through. She didn't even look at Kenshin, but went straight to Megumi with Omasu and Ochika in tow.

"Owww!" Yahiko whined. Tsubame, who did not go outside with the other women, stepped up next him and took hold of his arm. "Jeeze, Kaoru, what'd you do that for?" He continued, but half-heartedly. He was too busy blushing and pretending not to care that Tsubame was so close to really protest.

Meanwhile, Megumi took control of the situation. "You two idiots! Haru! Wolf-man! Take care of that trash." She nodded towards Shinzai and then trained her eyes on Kenshin. "We need to get Aoshi back to Aoiya. I will need bandages, thread and fresh water. Let's get to it! He's lost a lot of blood, and I'm a doctor, not a miracle-worker."

Saito and Kenshin exchanged a glance. Haru was already examining Shinzai's body and everyone else had begun to focus on saving Aoshi. The alley became a place of noisy but ordered chaos. The night was wearing on, but it was far from over: the circumstances would see to that. None of them had been prepared for this type of drama, but it had found them anyway. For a half-breath, Hitokiri and wolf remained unaffected by the pandemonium breaking out around them.

"Saito-dono?"

"Yes, Himura."

"I think we should speak tomorrow."

Saito glanced back at Haru. "Ai, we should."

Kenshin had already been speaking in low tones. He brought his voice down to a whisper. "Noon?"

"Not a moment later."

"HEY YOU TWO, A LITTLE HELP?"

Omasu's shout made Kenshin jump and Saito roll his eyes. Without another word, both acknowledged the plan to meet with a small nod.

And so the long night began.

xxxxx

They brought Aoshi directly back to Aoiya. Someone had a carriage brought around the back of the theatre to the alley. It whisked Megumi, Sanosuke, Yahiko and Aoshi away into the night. As it clattered out of sight, the others bid farewell to Saito; Haru had already fetched a carriage to the police station for reinforcements. Misao was beyond consoling, so that left it to Omasu to go back inside for Okina and explain what had happened. She apologized to the Namatagas profusely and told them of Aoshi's injuries. Both responded with concern and wished them all well. Emiko arranged to take their carriage home and everyone departed the theatre thereafter.

By the time they arrived, Megumi had already made Sano and Yahiko carry Aoshi back to his room. Sanosuke told Misao the moment that she stepped inside: Aoshi had woken twice. He had been lucid enough to ask if Misao had been hurt. When reassured that she was fine, in the company of both Himura and Okina, he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

The second time he had asked what happened to his brother. None of them had known what to make of the question.

"Aoshi doesn't have a brother!" Misao sobbed, exasperated. She tugged at her hair and wiped her eyes.

Okina entered behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "He does. Rather he did. I think now we know who the dead man in the alley was."

Misao felt a stabbing pain just below her ribs. She looked back at Okina, fighting her grief and the questions that bubbled up within her. _He never told me_, she thought.

But it was not a time for questions, and Megumi reminded them of this. She came bustling into the kitchen with sleeves and hair tied back.

"Ai! I sent Yahiko for water and that idiot isn't back yet. Himura – "

"Right away, Megumi-dono! Sano, Megumi-dono will need more than one bucket."

"Well what're we waiting for?"

"You!" Megumi shouted, pointing at Omasu. "Clean bandages! And cloths!"

Finally, she turned to Ochika. "You: my medicine box. In my room. Upstairs."

"Y-yes, ma'am!"

Megumi didn't even look at Okina and Misao. She simply crooked a finger in their direction and beckoned for them to follow. As they went through the halls towards Aoshi's room, she asked them where Kaoru and Tsubame had gotten to.

"They went to fetch Kenji, Megumi-san."

"Good, we're all accounted for then. Okina, I want you to help me move Aoshi. Misao, gather yourself. I need you to light more lanterns. This is going to be messy work. You'll stay in the hall once I start."

"B-but – "

"I can't be distracted by you wailing and whining."

Misao opened her mouth to say something and then closed it.

They had arrived.

Upon first entering, she could not look at Aoshi. Instead, she did as instructed: she gathered herself and went around the room lighting candles. When Megumi barked that there was not enough light, she went into the kitchen and fetched the lantern over the stove. Upon returning, she saw Aoshi for the first time. Megumi has undressed him to the waist and was wringing a blood soaked cloth out into a bucket. Had she been able to tear her eyes away, she would have seen that Himura stood in the corner. In the frame of the open fusuma that led onto the porch, Sano and Yahiko each held their own buckets and looking sheepish.

She could not look away from Aoshi. He was gray, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His eyes danced behind their lids and his mouth twisted into and out of a snarl. At his side, one hand clenched into and out of a fist. It was easy to see why: the gash, just below his rib cage was long, deep. It wept blood and a thin yellow liquid. Something within glittered; tiny pinpricks of light flashed orange and red in the candlelight. A haze eked across her vision, insidious and like a betrayal. Adrenaline spiraled from her stomach to the end of each fingertip. She suddenly felt so dizzy she had to put a hand out to steady herself. In doing so, she nearly dropped the lantern.

A firm hand fell upon her shoulder. The lantern was taken from her. She looked up into the eyes of Okina.

"Misao-chan, please do as Miss Megumi has asked and wait outside."

Nauseous. Weak. That was all she felt. She stepped backwards into the hallway. It was Himura who slid the panel closed after her. Before it clicked shut, he bowed his head and gave her a sad smile.

With that, she was alone with nothing but silence for company.

xxxxx

At first she stood against the wall, breathing heavy and fast. The walls swam and the ground felt like water. It was only when she pinched her own arm that she managed to gain control of herself.

There was nothing she could do. Megumi had proven capable more than once, and she was the only one with any power in that moment. Misao could not bear it. She paced and wandered up and down the hall until she thought she might go mad. It was only when she reached up and felt the dried blood on her cheek that she stopped. In the haste to return to Aoiya, no one had noticed it and she had forgotten entirely. With a final glance at the door to Aoshi's room, she departed. The hallway felt like a tomb suddenly, and she slipped away like a ghost.

She went outside and into the garden first to get water from the well. Back inside, she went straight to her own room. Once there, she tore off her filthy kimono and threw it aside. Furiously, ignoring the bite of the rough cloth, she scoured her skin until only lines of anguish remained. She was satisfied when her cheek began to glow red. Half aware, she put on a soft, clean robe. She brushed her hair until it was smooth as silk. Certain she no longer looked like a waif, she went to the kitchen and put a pot of water on to boil for tea. It was not her plan to have a cup – she could not stomach the thought – but there was something mundane and calming in the act of preparing one. Like any other night where sleep eluded her, the idea of a steaming cup of tea in itself was enough to set her at ease.

Time had both ceased and ceased to be. The distant clock tower chimed four times. Wind whispered through the eaves. Lighting flashed somewhere in the distance, illuminating the room. The reek of cherry blossoms was still overpowering, but fading. The blossoms themselves were finally growing scarce and fetid in the gardens beyond. Spring was melting into summer. These were all things that she barely noticed. She was focused on counting her heartbeats and calming her soul.

In another part of the house, a man she still loved was flirting with death. She imagined Aoshi dipping his feet in and out of Nirvana. How could anyone face such a thought without losing control?

Just as she thought she might begin to cry again, steam began to shimmer over the spout of the teapot and a knock came at the door.

It startled her. She move the pot to a cooler part of the stove and made sure her robe was secured.

"Coming!"

She was greeted by Kaoru, who immediately pulled her into a hug. Kenji, who had been sleeping in the crook of one arm protested with a gurgle before nodding off again. When Kaoru pulled away, she ruffled his hair and looked at Misao.

"How is he?"

"Bad." She whispered. "Himura is with him, if you wanted to go to him."

Kaoru smiled and placed a hand on the younger girl's cheek. "When he is finished, he will come to me. I have to get this little one into bed. If you need me, wake me."

Next through the door were Tsubame and Tae. They both looked pale and bewildered. Tae offered her a faltering smile, but it was Tsubame who embraced her much the same way that Kaoru had.

"Oh Miss Misao, I am sorry! Will he be all right?" She began to cry.

Her own hard-won control wavering, Misao fought panic. Her own tears threatened again. She gulped and patted the younger girl on the back.

"Now, now. He'll be fine. You understand me?"

Tsubame did not pull away. She had to be peeled away by Tae.

"All right, Tsu." She laughed nervously. "Time for bed! They made need us early in the morning. Goodness, it's nearly morning already, isn't it"

With a bow they both hurried out of the kitchen.

Misao had thought they were the only one's returning for the night. She stepped forward to shut the door, and right into Saito Hajime.

It was all too much. And her in naught but a robe.

"Makimachi Misao. Just the girl I was looking for. I have come to relinquish your fiancé. He is terrible at paperwork . You may keep him the rest of the night, if you like."

He noted what she was wearing and glanced over his shoulder. Then, he stepped back outside, bowed low and tipped his hat. Standing beside him, bathed in moonlight, was Haru.

While Saito had killed a man and no doubt wrapped up the resulting bureaucratic mess within hours, the older officer looked no worse for wear. Chipper: that was the right word, though the use of it in connection with Saito was disturbing to say the least. He remained un-mussed. No blood stained his uniform, no wrinkles crept across the sleeves and no lines were gathered around his eyes.

Haru, however, was another story. He looked as haggard as Misao felt. Mud dotted the cuffs of his pants and great creases had formed where he uniform fell into the inner part of his elbows. Little veins had broken alongside his nostrils. He was sporting the first shadow of a beard. Ringed by dark circles, his normally vibrant and dazzling, his blue eyes were dull and empty. Misao fancied she saw the smallest spark of affection in their depths, but she could not believe it. Even as she thought she saw it, his shoulders drooped, his hands shook and that spark became a dying ember. He appeared to be taking the night's events about as well as she was.

More than that, he looked irritated, like a man whose careful plans had been ruined by people who _just wouldn't listen._

Saito watched them take one another in before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. He lit it and pinched the flame on the end of the match with his thumb and forefinger. He did not hiss in pain or even acknowledge that he should have. In one easy motion, he cast the match out into the night and put his hat back on.

"Well, I'll let you two catch up. See you in the morning, Namataga."

"Yes, Goro-dono. In the morning."

Haru sounded so exhausted that Misao's heart ached for him. She nodded in Saito's direction, but he was already halfway down the path and almost to the gate.

"Haru, will you come inside?"

"Is he dead?"

The question hit Misao like a physical force. She tilted her head to the side and took a step back.

"Megumi and Himura are still looking after him. Will you come in?"

She hoped she had misheard the hope in his voice. Haru looked her up and down. There was so much hurt and longing in that look that she knew she had heard him quite well.

"Hai." He murmured. "But only for a moment."

After removing his shoes, he stepped inside.

"I've made us some tea. Will you have a cup?" Misao asked.

He did not answer her at first. He looked away and to the ground. She watched the muscles in his throat work furiously for a moment.

When his response came and he looked her in the eye, there was something cold and snake-like about his voice.

"Precisely what was Shinomori – "

"Aoshi. This conversation is between you and I, Haru. When that is the case you will call him Aoshi."

"Perhaps you are being modest in expressing your feelings. Shall I call him Aoshi-sama? Would you like that best?"

Misao turned her back on him and went to the stove. She felt numb at her core, and brittle at her very edges.

"I'll let myself believe you're delirious, Haru. For your sake. It's been a long night."

"Delirious!? Nothing of the sort! I won't pretend I didn't notice how you pushed me away when I went to you in the alley. There was more said by that alone than by any of the lies you've been telling, Misao-chan."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't be so coy. You love him!"

Haru sounded triumphant. Here was the accusation! Now would come the moment of truth. Misao, for her part was only flustered by such an allegation. It brought all her own self-doubt back, rearing like a stallion. The only response that felt appropriate in the face of her confusion was hitting him. She whirled on her heel and heat flooded her already-raw cheeks. As she raised drew her hand back, her elbow caught the teapot. It flew out and over the edge of the stove. Haru's eyes widened and his mouth formed a silent "oh". He reached out, caught her by the sleeve and pulled her to him. Both narrowly avoided being splashed by the scalding water as the teapot shattered.

Misao was not too stunned to have been cured of her anger. She slipped from his arms and turned to face him. Elsewhere in the house, the crash had drawn attention. From down the hall, she heard Kenshin call out. "Misao-dono?"

The last thing either of them wanted was to be seen fighting so close to the wedding. Gossip was more than their fragile hearts could bear. Haru cleared his throat and brought a hand to the back of his head. Neither of them heard footsteps approaching, but that meant nothing where Kenshin was concerned. The shared silence was uncomfortable in any case.

"I'm sorry. I will return in the morning. I wish Aoshi all the best, my dear."

Misao nodded but would not meet his eyes. He did not linger after that.

Kenshin arrived just as Haru went out. The manslayer paused at the edge of the kitchen and looked from the broken teapot to Misao and back.

"A waste, that it is. Shall we all go to the market and fetch another one in the morning? If you'd like some tea in the meantime, one can boil water in a pot just as well."

Misao furiously wiped her face with her sleeve. She knew she couldn't hide the fledgling tears, but she did her best anyway.

"No, Himura, I do not want tea. Tell me, how is Aoshi-sa…_Aoshi_?"

"Ah," Kenshin sighed. "Sleeping easily. Megumi-dono said you would want to see him but that he needs his rest."

"Of course she did."

Kenshin shifted and looked at the door.

"Pardon my intrusion, but was that Haru-dono that this one heard?"

She actually laughed. "Yes, and he was being a _jerk_."

"Picking up words from Yahiko?"

"Not quite." She wagged a finger at him and paused to look down the hall behind him. When she spoke again, her eyes were distant, neither focused on Kenshin nor anything within Aoiya. "If you remember, I used to give Yahiko a run for his money when it came to being foul-mouthed."

Kenshin did not respond at first, but the skin about his eyes crinkled.

"Misao-chan, do not worry. Will you accompany this one outside? The cherry-blossoms will be gone soon, and there will be no time to look at them in the coming days. Besides, the clear air will calm you, that it will."

Cherry blossoms? Misao had to try very hard to keep her composure. If there was anything that she was not worried about in that moment it was Cherry Blossoms. Still, as Kenshin went for the door, she realized, with horrible clarity, that she did not want to be alone.

"I will, Himura. After you."

"Excellent. Come then."

xxxxx

Himura was right.

The early morning air was crisp enough to chill bones, but gentle enough to ease pain and relax her spirit. Together they went to the edge of the porch and looked out over the night-swept gardens. A thin skein of frost had gathered in the deeper places, but for the most part the ground was sparkling with dew like a second bed of stars. A moth was hovering around the lantern by the gate. It's flight was erratic thanks to damp wings, but the shadows that each frantic wing-beat caused as delightful as a troupe of dancers. At first Misao watched that, but as the moon sank, her eyes were drawn to the thin threads of smoke that began to rise from neighboring chimneys.

There was peace in the existence of such a thing, she decided. Just as it comforted her, it also chilled her. It reminded her of growing up and of helping Omasu light fires in the kitchen hearth.

Misao remembered those earliest of mornings. The rest of the Oniwabanshu would be stirring in the pre-dawn darkness, rising before the sun and vigilant. In those days, danger has whispered in the eaves and been heralded by the wind. Each breath had been precious and filled with purpose. They knew death and darkness and despair. They grabbed at happiness and bowed to sorrow. It had been a heavy burden, that sorrow – the burden of warriors- and something they had heaved off along with the old era.

Now all that was left was an uncertain future. Even in peaceful times danger stalked them like a hungry beast. Behind, in the dark rooms of the Aoiya all waited. In Aoshi's room, Megumi sat vigil, kept company by Okina. Outside, alone beneath the dripping eaves, Kenshin and Misao watched daylight creep over Kyoto in silence. A final squall of rain passed through as a distant clock chimed five times. It was only then that Misao spoke.

"Himura, I am afraid."

Kenshin looked at her sideways and offered her a crooked smile.

"Misao-dono, you have faced greater peril."

"But what about Aoshi? That man nearly killed – "

Kenshin pursed his lips and raised a hand. This was enough to silence her. He fiddled with the hilt of his katana and shaded his eyes again the first lance of sunlight to spill over the gardens.

"Yes." He said finally. "It is enough to make one fearful, that it is."

"He is not a man to hesitate." She whispered. "He could only have been wounded thus if he hesitated. What could have made him do such a thing?"

"It was his brother."

"Still!"

"Perhaps his hesitancy was a gift, however peculiar it may seem. Men have gifted greater mercies to their worst enemies. This one would know."

They both considered this. A little sparrow flitted down into the rose beds as they watched morning continue creeping up the sky.

"The only good thing is that Saito showed up." Misao could stand the quiet no longer. She gritted her teeth and drove a fist into her palm. "I am glad that old wolf is still a killer."

"Misao-chan! You should not say such things."

The manslayer looked for regret in her eyes; acknowledgment that taking joy in such violent death was unbecoming for a lady.

There was only rage, glittering like bared teeth. She favored him with a look more fearsome than a thousand vengeful blades, flashing and drawn.

"I will say such things, even if I should not." She whispered. "I have had enough of fearful silence."

For the tiniest moment, he glimpsed something in her that he had not seen since he had first stumbled across her in the forest between Tokyo and Kyoto so many years before. In that instant he saw Misao the girl, not the woman.

It both delighted and terrified him.

xxxxx

Misao stood outside long after Himura excused himself and went inside. He had a wan look, but still bowed and left her with a smile. She remained there until long fingers of pink light crawled up from the East. Morning had come and she had not slept at all. The dawn was resplendent and cruelly unaware of the terrible things that had happened in the night. Relentless, the sun moved across the gardens in a steady and unwavering line. It was bright and like a thousand daggers to her tender, tear-ravaged eyes. That, more than anything else, was what drove her inside.

The crushing exhaustion did not hit until she actually stepped back into the kitchen.

Okina was there, leaning on a cane. In the corner, a broom leaned against the wall beside a pile of broken pottery. For a moment she wondered if it had been Kenshin who had swept. She realized she had not heard a thing and that it might have been him or it might have been her good old Gramps. Even in his old age and even when it came to household chores, the powers of an onmitsu were his to keep and wield as he chose.

Unfazed by her bleary confusion, he laughed.

"Misao-chan! I saw you out there. I worried that if you stood there any longer you would turn into stone when the sun hit you.

"How long have you been here, Gramps?"

"Oh," he frowned and shifted his weight from his right foot to his left. "A while."

Misao sighed and brought a hand to her brow.

"I don't know that I can sleep, but I'm so tired I barely remember my name."

Okina cleared his through and glanced over his shoulder. When he looked back to Misao, he was so serious that she wondered if she were about to be scolded. Instead, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"You know, Omasu is still sleeping."

Misao stared at him blankly.

"Ahem. Megumi is nodding off and could probably use some sleep herself. I don't think anyone would argue that Aoshi should be left alone, but the good doctor needs to keep her wits about her, no?"

Understanding blossomed. Energy returned like a bolt of lightning.

"Oh, how terrible, Gramps! Whatever can be done?" She was already across the kitchen before she realized she had made up her mind. With a little flutter growing in her heart, she gave the old man a kiss as she passed. She did not see the smile it caused, nor hear what words he uttered.

"Like moonbeams, is my little Misao…"

Down the hall and around the corner: she slipped into Aoshi's room, not caring who might see. Megumi was there, with her face resting on one arm and her eyelids drooping. When she saw it was Misao she gave a vixen grin and drew to her feet like a queen greeting her royal subjects.

"Took you long enough." She whispered. "The old man and I talked about it. No harm in it now. Go to him."

Megumi handed her a blanket and left as quietly as Misao had come in. Misao heard nothing after that.

There was really nothing else to be done. Dropping to her knees, she crawled across the floor until she was beside Aoshi. He looked like a different man than the one she had left the night before. The wound was bandaged. His ashen complexion had gained color in that he was now white as snow. Two rosy patches had risen on his cheeks and his breathing was easy. She hazarded a kiss, muttering her love against the hollow place where his throat met his chin. The final thing she did was press an ear to his chest.

His pulse was not thready. It was the most beautiful sound in the world, powerful as a drumbeat. She breathed a sigh of relief and slipped down beside him. She was not so bold as to face him or place her arm around his waist, but she did press her back against him so as to feel his every breath.

When Okina looked in on them a few minutes later, she was sound asleep.

Unconscious though he was, Aoshi's hand had found its way to hers. Okina should have found it beautiful, but it only made him afraid: both for Haru and for Aoshi.

Aoshi's was the sort of grip that said he was never going to let go ever again.


	19. Chapter 19: Healing and Hurting

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN I AM BACK FROM JAPAN!

But for as little time as humanly possible. I just enrolled in a Japanese class and TODAY WAS MY FIRST DAY!

With any luck, I will be in Japan with 2 years, teaching and tearing it up!

If you want to see some of my photos from my trip (and others from my everyday life) you can find them on deviantART, where I am strixvaria. You can also find me on Twitter where I am K. Baisley, the Wordsmithninja. I have to warn you. Real-life me is pretty obnoxious :p See you around the internet, folks! I will also be updating my profile on here with estimated dates for more chapters!

Please be kind! I edited this chapter very briefly. I am on my third day of less than 5 hours sleep (looks to be 6 tonight), and I'm coming off a bachelorette party weekend. Be kind, but constructive!

**Chapter 19**

**Healing and Hurting**

…

The sort of dreaming Aoshi slipped into was frenetic and filled with howling sounds. Cries, shouts, whispers caressing his skin like silk; all of these rose into a roar before fading to a soft susurration. There was nothing beyond such relentless noise: only nothingness. Just when he began to wonder if he was passing into life beyond life, the noise rose again. Along with it, came sight. He began the journey through his consciousness on a wild winter-swept field. For a while he walked through snow and lashing wind. Others joined him, walking beside him: forms he thought he knew but whose names he could not remember.

Soon, it was too dark too see. He tripped and ended up on his back. Against the cold, he brought an arm over his eyes.

All at once he was on the sea shore, with sand gathering in the pockets of his jacket and the tide creeping dangerously close. For a moment he laid there, arm still over his eyes and breathing shallow breaths to keep the air from chilling his lungs. The sound of the sea was so perfect, so numbing he never wanted to get up. That was when he heard a familiar voice calling. The heat came then, a heavy blanket sweeping over him. He drew his arm down and let bright sunshine prickle his eyelids until all he knew was red.

The voice he knew called again. Every ounce of him wanted to stay there until the waves moved far enough along the beach to suck him out to sea. Nothing would have been better. He could simply breathe and then sink slowly to the bottom where he might sleep forever.

The voice he knew called once more. This time he heard his name.

"Shinomori-kun! I don't have all day! Neither do you."

"Raku?" He whispered the name. He daren't believe it.

"Come on, big brother! Time to get up. There are people waiting for you!"

Everything hurt: arms, legs, head, chest, fingertips and toes. He did not want to sit up, but he had to know if what he was hearing was true. Groaning, he struggled to sit up on his elbows. The moment he opened his eyes he shut them again; the sun was far too bright after having been in darkness for so long. His second attempt was much more successful. He peered through his lashes until he could see clearly.

If he truly saw what he thought he did then, there were only two possibilities: he was gone mad or –

"Am I dead?"

Raku Toshibu was still far enough away to have to shout over the roar of the surf yet he was close enough to be unmistakable. In that strange place – an endless shore – he was wearing a shinobi outfit. His bright green eyes reflected the ocean until they looked almost aquamarine. Dark hair, fine as silk and as iridescent as ravens' feathers, whipped wildly about his head in the sea-breeze. His visage was clear, lit as much by his smile as by the sun. A long silver chain dangled onto his shoulder, threaded through a hole in one earlobe.

Aoshi was trying to stand when the dead man put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sit! We have a lot to talk about and little time to talk."

Raku sat down beside him. Aoshi gaped and muttered. "I _am _dead."

"Psh! No you're not." Raku shook his head and smiled. That action alone drew tears from Aoshi. It was a sort of smile that belonged to Raku alone, one in which only his top lip moved. Aoshi had not realized how much he missed it.

"_You_ are, though." His voice cracked. "I know that. What does that make me?"

"Dreaming."

Aoshi stared. He did not move to wipe his tears away, even when Raku met his gaze.

"You look rough, big brother."

"You died. In the snow."

"So gloomy, Shinomori. The girl's never did like that about you. 'Course, they were too busy swooning over me to tell you. Death this, death that: didn't I mention the whole 'lots to talk about, no time to talk about it' thing?"

They lapsed into silence. It was Aoshi who spoke first.

"The girls are safe."

"I know."

"I left them with – "

"I know all that, stupid. I'm here for _you_, so stop feeling so guilty." Raku laughed. "It doesn't suit you. Tell me: what is this I hear about little Misao getting married?"

Aoshi looked at his friend, gaping. Grief and anger warred in his eyes.

"So it is true." Raku sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. "Well then, brother. Looks as if you're going to battle. Tell me more about this Haru Namataga."

...

It was late afternoon before Aoshi woke.

The sun was fading away, clawing at the bamboo floor as it was dragged westward. Its rays moved across the day died in silent agony, chased by a gathering army of shadows. From where he lay, Aoshi felt a cool breeze stir the stifling heat that the afternoon hours had left in their wake. With some difficulty, he rolled over and found the fusuma leading outside wide open. Beyond: a coral colored sky with gray tufts of cloud like fog and smoke that were beginning to gather, foretelling more rain to come.

More interesting to him, however, were the two women standing on the porch in flamboyant kimono. Their heads were bowed under the weight of elaborate hairdos.

Megumi and Misao. They were dressed for a night out. Both spoke in conspiratorial whispers and looked more mischievous than dignified. They had not heard him stir. He lay still and listened.

" – should be waking soon. His breathing is good. I have already reported your unfortunate condition. That was quite a swoon. I don't even think Kaoru was suspicious. It's a shame about your obi though. You'll never get that tea stain out of that silk."

There was genuine regret in Megumi's voice. Misao was less concerned.

"It was a gift from Haru. For our engagement. I never did like it."

"Well then," Megumi chuckled. "I suppose the only thing you'll have to suffer for this will be Haru's ministrations and the rumors that you're carrying a little Namataga. Honestly, that was quite a spell. It hit you so suddenly too."

Even in profile, Aoshi could see Misao blush. Her cheeks flushed and she brought a hand to one cheek.

"R-rumors? Easily dispelled. There's no chance of any little Namataga's. I worry more about the ministrations."

Megumi smiled widely and brought a hand beneath her chin. "Really?" she did not sound as surprised as her tone suggested. "Haru is a more patient man than I have given him credit for. I would definitely be more concerned with his ministrations then. One thing may lead to the other."

Misao spoke above a whisper for the first time. "Megumi!"

"Shh. You'll wake the baby." Megumi turned just in time to catch Aoshi's eyes snap shut. "Ah: too late." She chuckled in a manner almost like purring. Such a sound might have made any other man slobber.

Aoshi was too busy fighting back the heat gathering in his chest and flooding his vision like a crimson tide. He kept his eyes shut and tried to ignore the rushing in his ears.

_One thing may lead to another._ Those words had woken an anger in him he didn't know he had. Megumi's tone had inspired images of strangling Haru with his own police uniform belt. Aoshi did not open his eyes again until he had mastered himself. When he did, he found the good doctor kneeling beside him with her fancy kimono sleeves pulled back. Misao lingered outside. She was looking at him with awe. It was though she fancied she saw a strange sight reflected in his eyes: a seashore, white sands and blinding sunlight. Then, like a dream fled too quickly it was gone. She looked away from him, blushing furiously.

Megumi flicked the end of his nose and drew his attention back. "How are you feeling?"

"Never better." He croaked.

He shifted and groaned. Something in his back creaked and his wound caught fire. He grimaced despite all his best efforts. It felt like a tiger was clawing his chest, trying to get at the soft, delicious things hidden within the bone cage of his ribs. Worse, it felt like someone had been jumping on his spine all night. Still, he managed to sit as Megumi began to take his bandages off. She revealed a patchwork of scars that spoke of courage and glory.

She was not impressed.

"Stupid man. I told Kenshin this once and I'll tell you now: you're not immortal. Do they forget to teach men that when they take up the sword?"

He and looked away as she revealed the ugly gash Shinzai had given him. It was unfortunate that his gaze fell on Misao. She was looking at the wound with wide eyes. Megumi began to prod it, producing a fresh stream of thin, lymph-tinged blood. Misao paled and had to turn away. In some way, it made him ashamed. She stepped outside, into the fresh air remained with her back to him.

"No." he looked down to watch Megumi work. "I was told that quite often. I just chose to ignore it."

"You're as stubborn as you are stupid." She prodded the stitches and slapped him on the head without looking when he flinched and hissed. "You'll be abed at least until tomorrow with this one. It's not hot and it's already closing at the edges. I think you'll be good enough to stand by lunchtime. That'll be just in time to watch Misao faint into her matcha and ruin another kimono. If she keeps it up, she'll be hours late to her own wedding and will be wearing tea-stains instead of pearls to accent her treachery."

"Treachery?" Misao whirled on her heel and put her hands on her hips. "I just didn't want to go to a stupid dinner with his police friends. How _boring_. Besides! You said yourself that you might need help with taking care of _him_!" She jabbed a finger at Aoshi.

Megumi gave the wound one final poke. Satisfied, she rubbed a creamy paste into Aoshi's flesh where it puckered around the thread of her careful stitches. Misao again had to look away. This only made Megumi laugh.

"Yes. You're very helpful, Misao. However did you survive life in the Oniwaban with such a distaste for blood?

"I-I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Surely. Now I'm missing out on a fancy dinner with everyone because there are two idiots who need medical attention. Imagine how mad I'd be if I knew that one of them was faking."

Misao stuck her tongue out at Megumi. She didn't enter the room until Aoshi was wrapped up again.

"There. All better."Megumi murmured. "Are you honestly feeling all right? Can I leave you with Misao? Even in her _delicate_ state?"

Her eyes were lit with laughter, but it was a serious question. Aoshi nodded once and settled back.

"Good then. _Behave_, you two. I will be in the garden, if you need me."

She was off towards the door in a flurry of sleeves. Aoshi and Misao watched her go. Both half-expected her to turn and say something else before leaving.

The relief in the room was palpable when she did not. Misao relaxed and sighed. "Don't honestly know what sort of trouble she imagines we could get into. _You're_ an invalid."

When she looked at Aoshi, the mischief in his eyes made her blush. She cleared her throat, patted at her hair and tugged at the sleeves of her kimono.

"Anyway, you'll be all right for a moment, won't you? There's no use wearing this stuffy thing now."

Aoshi meant to say something about how the kimono suited her, but could not find the right words. Instead, he lay back and closed his eyes. He heard the door open and shut. It seemed like she was gone for an age. Worry was just beginning to sit heavily on his chest when he heard her enter once more.

She returned in a shinobi outfit: threadbare and snug. Her hair was no longer pulled into an elaborate up-do. Instead, it hung behind her in a lazy braid. Loose strands played about her face and ears. Her cheeks were bright red from a thorough scrubbing. Her own skin, previously hidden beneath cakes of white make-up was glowing. She was smiling, and that too was a welcome change.

Neither of them spoke. Misao went to sit beside him. There, she crossed her legs and rested one arm lazily across her knee. Her opposite hand dedicated itself to picking at a loose seam. Aoshi closed his eyes again and tried to focus on anything but her closeness. He settled on meditating. That was why it wasn't sure how long it had been before he felt Misao's hand upon his own. It shook him to the core. He must have gasped, for when he opened his eyes she was looking at him. Her eyes were wide with concern.

"Misao-chan – "

"A-are you all right? Had you fallen asleep? I didn't mean to wake you. Aoshi-sama – "

"Aoshi." He corrected. He barely heard his own voice. "I am fine. I was not sleeping."

Though he had corrected her with his words, he held her hand tight. He had to. There was a question weighing on his mind that he thought he already knew the answer to. It terrified him. Still, he began again.

"Misao-chan, the man who did this – "

"Hush. You needn't worry about him."

"Yes. I must. He is my brother."

Misao sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes had never left his, but now they filled with a poisonous mixture of pity and betrayal. He did not blame her for how cruel her next words were.

"He is dead. Saito-san killed him. Had you seen fit to tell any of us that you had a brother, maybe he would not be."

Those words were worse than any wound. Still, he held his tongue. Only his eyes betrayed his hurt. Misao looked away.

"Gone then." Aoshi whispered. "I thought him dead long ago, but – "

"Then what you saw last night was a ghost. Even they can kill, if given the power. That doesn't change the fact that they're nothing but spirit."

Her words stunned him. They were not the words of the Misao he had left behind so long ago. Had it been five short years? It seemed more like an eternity. When he met her eyes, there was something unfathomable in them; something that cried of her past self. That something reminded him of the Misao he could not lose.

That Misao was also not one to lie in silence for long. When she spoke again, he was so certain of her next words that he almost offered what they asked of him before she finished speaking.

"Aoshi? I know you must be exhausted, but will you tell me a story?"

"About what, Misao-chan?"

"Of Abdas, and what happened in Mecca?"

He did not want to. He wanted to lay there, close to Misao; to nurse his wounds in quiet contemplation. Thinking of the past would be a burden. Last night had already dredged up enough old hatreds and terrors. The fevered dreams that had chased him through the night had awoken worse. Now, with night drawing on once more – silent and like a serpent – he wanted to nothing more than to wait and build his strength against the dark.

Still, as he waited for his thoughts to quiet, the past defied him. He felt the words gathering and running in circles from his mind to his heart, never bothering to nestle back into the ocean of his soul. They had been loosed by her plea. The only way to be rid of them was to let them spill into the evening like the dying sunlight. He was drawn back across continents and years. The world paused, waiting in silence over a little tent in the bleak Arabian dessert. There, warrior told warrior tales of waste and ruin.

Aoshi gave his assent with a nod, and Misao drew close. Her hand never left his. In the fading day of one world, they fled together to the dawning morrow of another.

...

Neither he nor Abdas slept that night. They stayed up until the first fingers of dawn slithered their way through the desert sand. Abdas went outside to pray, roused by the distant cry of a strange tongue that echoed across the dessert from the city beyond the mountains. Aoshi waited in the tent, eyes closed and meditating. When his newfound ally returned, they prepared a meager breakfast in silence. Aoshi ate none of it.

When Abdas finished, he said another prayer before attending to the matter at hand.

"So we must get you into Mecca to save your friend." He muttered and ran a hand over his beard. He had listened to Aoshi's story while the stars swam and never once interrupted. Now there was a light in his eyes that cried of mischief.

"I can't hazard to guess how they have gotten him inside the city themselves," Aoshi said. "But they have done it. Certainly it can be done."

"With a little help from Allah, anything can be done. He is just and merciful." Abdas groaned and stood. "We lost someone on the journey here. We just so happen to have an extra set of irham."

Aoshi bowed his head. "I am sorry – "

Abdas cut him off with a sharp nod of his head "Inshallah."

Aoshi did not know the meaning of the words, but nodded in understanding. He felt a truth in the very sound of the syllables – even as they ran together like flute-song. "So I am to wear them now?"

"They were meant to be yours."

Aoshi briefly considered going back to the tent for Botan, but decided it was better to leave him wondering. The okashira had been losing his patience for the other man. While the weight of the journey hung on Aoshi's shoulders, ever growing like sunlight in high summer, he could see that Botan was shedding his consideration of the others' burdens. He was worried only for his own part in what was to come. He cared not for Raku's fate or the fate of Raku's girls. Aoshi could not condone or abide that. They were Oniwabanshu once and always; men of honor.

Together, Aoshi and Abdas went out into the early morning dawn, clothed in white robes and bearing only water. They argued briefly outside the tent, but despite Aoshi's protests, Abdas won: they would not be bringing their weapons inside the city – nay – they were not even to carry them. He would not elaborate, but Aoshi could see by the look in the man's eyes that any further argument he could attempt to make would be useless.

It was a silent journey to the city from there. Abdas and Aoshi moved like ghosts against the wind, bringing their arms up now and again to shield their eyes from the growing morning. It was already midday before they made it to a low line of posts buried in the sand: the entrance to the city. Abdas had only stopped once. It had been to pray when cries like those from that morning came to them from the mountains. During the brief respite Aoshi watched the others that had joined them as they went. They had left the camp, few had joined them. Now, endless streams of pilgrims streamed towards Mecca from all horizons. Abdas, who hadn't spoken since they'd left the tent, leaned in and whispered for Aoshi to follow his lead.

And follow he did. It took them nearly an hour to make it to the city itself, all the while surrounded by a thousand other believers with screaming children, squeaky carts and braying animals. The only thing that barred them from entering was two men, unarmed but tough enough to make even the strongest warrior wary. They stopped and scrutinized he and Abdas with dark, vigilant eyes. Adbas inclined his head and Aoshi did the same – this was an act of respect he recognized. Then he waited and did not speak, clenching and unclenching his fist where the hilt of his sword normally would have been.

Abdas and the men spoke a strange tongue that ebbed and flowed like water over stones. It was lyrical and altogether unfamiliar; much the same as what Qadi spoke, but all at once very different. Under any other circumstances it would have been beautiful. Now, it was threatening. Many things were being explained and he could not be privy to any of it. Abdas could have been betraying him and he wouldn't have know. He suddenly wished he had brought Liu along.

All at once, it was over. The two men were laughing and clapping Abdas on the shoulder. Adbas bowed his head again and began to lead Aoshi into Mecca.

Even Tokyo at its busiest hour had nothing on this strange city in the sand. If the encampment of pilgrims outside had seemed overwhelming, seeing Mecca was enough make one's jaw drop. More people moved through the streets than fish were in the ocean. So it seemed anyway. The going was slow and had there not been so much life and activity around them, Aoshi might have gone mad with it. Instead, he gaped and stared at people of strange colour and with features he had not known existed. All of them moving, moving, moving, intent on a goal and purpose he knew he could never understand. He knew of pilgrimage, but this was something entirely different. This was a gathering of the holiest and utmost important. Everywhere he looked he saw naught but men in Ihram and women with their heads covered. They all moved the same way – towards something far ahead that could not yet be seen.

"They go to the Ka'aba, my friend. There they shall circle seven times before beginning the sa'i. Tomorrow: Arafat."

Abdas noticed him craning his neck to see over the crowds. He began explaining the meaning of their journey and what they as pilgrims must do. Aoshi only half-listened. He scanned the surging crowd, looking for anyone suspicious. Beside him, Abdas prattled on. They were stopped once again to pray. Aoshi could see now that the cries came from towers that rose up over the city, not the mountains themselves. A man stood in each tower and sang out. It was only after they had finished that Abdas spoke again. This time it was not about religious duties.

"We have had a late start, my friend. I will take some time in catching up with my fellows – but first we must find your friend."

Standing in the never-ending river of believers, Aoshi felt a sudden helplessness. "How are we to do that?"

"Anything is possible wi – "

"With Allah, I know." Aoshi again put his hand where the hilt of his sword should have been.

Of all the places of strange beauty he had seen, this was certainly the most overwhelming. With so many rituals to perform and rules to follow, how were they supposed to do what they must without raising suspicion? How were they to save anyone without the sword? Martial arts? By knowing those arts, had he already violated whatever strange custom said a man could not carry something to protect himself? Where his fists considered a weapon here?

Aoshi must have asked that last question aloud, for Abdas laughed. It was a loud booming laugh that startled a few of the passersby and drew glares from others.

"My dear friend," Abdas lay a finger alongside his nose. "You are clever and treacherous as Iblis."

He winked and said nothing else, drawing Aoshi further aside and into a nearby alley.

"Now, you must use that cleverness to think treacherous thoughts like your enemies. Do not let fatigue dull your senses. How have these men worked in the past?"

"In darkness, as they are wont to do. They draw us places and wait to ensnare us."

"In crowds such as this?"

"Last, it was in an alleyway. Before that, it was under the shadow of the Great Wall – "

"You _have_ traveled far."

As they mulled over the possibilities, a terrible idea has began to grow in the back of Aoshi's mind. It developed slowly, turning over and unfurling its petals until it blossomed into a terrible epiphany with a thorned-stem and poison nectar. Abdas, who had been pacing back and forth in the alley saw the horror spread over his features. The other man stopped and crossed his arms.

"My friend?"

When Aoshi spoke, his words were like stones.

"The encampment."

They'll were off at a run at once, back in the direction they had come. It was difficult going – they had to fight the flow of pilgrims this time and most were not happy at being shoved out of the way. When they made it back to the gate, they didn't even stop to talk to the two men. There was no need; they had gone and left with the other pilgrims.

"My tent first, for our weapons." Abdas gasped.

The journey to the city had taken nearly three hours in the cooler morning hours. Now in the dying afternoon heat, it was ever worse. They were slowed by sun, sand and thirst. Abdas stopped once and bid Aoshi did the same so that they could drink some water. Their stop was not long – mere seconds – and they were off again through the sands. They left dust clouds in their wake and drew their surging apprehension back to the camp.

When they arrived back at Abdas tent, Aoshi saw that the encampment could hardly be called an encampment as all. All was quiet, and that put them at ease for the moment. Most had left for the city not long after they had. Abdas explained that only those too weak to go on would have stayed behind. He told Aoshi that many of them had come even farther than Japan – across oceans as big as the sky – for this pilgrimage. The journey would not have been kind to all of them.

"I lost my son." He said softly. "Heat and exhaustion. He was not mindful of his step and tangled with an asp halfway between here and Oujda, our home. You wear his ihram."

Aoshi, who had been pulling his worn shinobi back on, paused in tying his belt. Abdas was standing at the entrance to the tent. He had dressed more quickly and already had his own sword strapped at his side. He was looking out over the desert with his head hanging low. Both arms were at his sides; in one hand, he held Aoshi's sword and in the other, a second sword similar to the one at his waist.

"I am sorry to hear it."

"Inshallah." Abdas whispered.

Aoshi finished dressing and went to join him.

"You know," Abdas sighed, "I wondered how such a thing could befall him on such an important journey. His mother had asked me not to take him this year. She asked me to wait, but I would not listen. I insisted that it must be this year. When it happened – when he was bitten – I thought of turning back. Something drew me forward though. Something told me that I still must go: I must make the hajj despite my grief. I had every excuse not to. I think though, Shinomori Aoshi, that whatever pulled me must have been the will of Allah. I have my son's sword here too. I give you back your own, but I would also like to you to take this blade. I can think of no other ma n who would wield it as much honor as you; just as I can think of no other man who would journey so far for a friend despite all he would leave behind."

Aoshi paused, but then bowed low and took both swords. He took a moment to strap each of them to his belt. The shape of the new sword's sheath was intriguing and nothing would have pleased him more than to have tried it. Nothing, except for a spar with Abdas. Such a duel would be one in which Aoshi could be shown to proper way to wield such and alien blade. For a moment, he was at peace considering this, lulled by the deceptive quiet of the camp. They had made it back in time, they must have. Aoshi looked to Abdas and nodded.

It was then that a cry rang out in the gathering twilight. It echoed across the sand in the same way that the calls to prayer had. This, however, was not a cry with holy purpose or message. It was filled with pain and terror.

Aoshi knew who it belonged to. It was Chizuru.

…..

"Stop there."

Misao's voice was filled with panic and jarring. Aoshi thought it might have been that she knew what was to come and couldn't take anymore. It was worse, he discovered. Outside, night had come on and crickets were providing a chorus for ruckus that had arisen elsewhere in the Aoiya. The others had returned.

At first they both remained still, as though that would make everyone go away. Then, Misao was on her feet and pitter-pattering towards the door. Once there, she placed an ear to it and listened. She needn't have: Megumi and Omasu were arguing loudly enough to shake the floor.

"Disgraceful!"

"She is a grown woman! Sooner or later you're going to have to learn how to trust her as one. You would also impugn Aoshi's sense of honor in the same token?"

"Never! But you and I both know all too well what sort of trouble grown men and women can get up to when left alone."

"You saw Aoshi last night. Are you suggesting a man so injured could cause 'trouble' of that sort?"

"You have seen him fight. You should know as well as I what he can do, injured or not."

"It must be wonderful, having a depraved an imagination like yours."

"Depraved? Me? You – "

"Oh! Now I suppose you're going to suggest I would encourage such behavior or even _allow_ it."

Aoshi, for his part, was torn between horror and laughter. Misao was not so conflicted. She turned back to face him with one palm clapped over her mouth to stay her laughter. On tiptoe, she made her way back to his side. There she crouched low and whispered.

"I think I should be leaving."

"Indeed."

"But I will be back later, for more of the story."

"After Omasu has gone to bed, I presume."

"No sooner, no later." She placed a finger over her lips. Without any thought, she tucked his sheets around him and brushed the hair back from his face.

He was too galvanized by the pleasant heat that blossomed deep in his belly. Later, he would be glad that it hurt so much to move. Otherwise, he might have done something rash in that moment.

A knock came at the door. Misao had to cover her mouth to stop herself from giggling again. She was out on the porch in a flash, swift as departing rain. Aoshi thought she might leave without another word. Instead, she paused and turned to give him a cheeky little bow.

When Omasu barged in, dragging a scowling Megumi behind her, she was gone.

…

Misao snuck through the garden, using star-shine as her guide. She slipped from tree to tree, willing her heartbeat to slow. In her breast, it thudded and fluttered: butterfly wings and thunderclaps. More a creature of capering than of creeping, she fought the urge to dance. If her smile grew any wider, she feared she might be split in two.

There were no thoughts of Haru in her mind, no guilt and no strife. She hadn't thought of him once the entire afternoon. Even when Megumi and Omasu had stood outside of Aoshi's door and argued, she had been thinking of Aoshi and Aoshi alone. To see him so hurt had been devastating; to sit near to him and listen to his story had been healing. The world had existed only because they did. She had not felt such a thing since before Aoshi had disappeared that night so long ago. Five years? Yes, that was indeed a long time.

But he was there, in his room, resting. Alive. Breathing. No, Shinomori Aoshi was certainly not dead.

No other place had been created that could have tempted her more than the little room beside the dojo: Aoshi's austere haven. The smell of cherry blossoms and wood smoke; that brought her to a place of peace. Aoshi's heartbeat against the flesh of her own palm made her feel safe. His voice awoke something primal deep in her soul.

Had she ever been so absorbed by another? No. Not even when she was with her fiancé; not even when she was with –

"Haru!"

She stopped so fast, she nearly stumbled. Something icy – not quite fear and not quite horror, but of the same ilk – coursed through her veins. She instantly tugged at the bottom of her shinobi outfit.

"Misao-chan. It is good to see you have recovered."

Haru Namataga was seated on the edge of the porch, boots resting in the dust. He had been sitting very still. In one hand, he held a single red rose; in the other, an envelope.

"I knocked, but you did not answer." He said. "Omasu told me she would fetch you when they were done tending to Shinomori."

She breathed, "Aoshi."

"How is he?"

"Well. Resting."

"That is good to hear." There was no hope in his voice when he asked her this time. He looked at her instead, and she saw something more terrible in his eyes: genuine sorrow. "And you, my love? How are you faring?"

"F-fine. I was just getting some fresh air. Feeling much better actually. Just great. Was just heading to bed."

She babbled. As she went on, Haru stood, set the rose down on top of the envelope and went to her.

"Really. I'm all right. It must have been the heat earlier. You know how those kimono are. Well, no. You don't, but I can tell you they're dreadful and - oh!"

Haru swept her into an embrace. If it was possessive, it was gently so. He curled one arm around her waist and laid the other along her spine to cradle her head in his palm. Without a word, he placed a kiss on the crown of her head, then her neck and finally, when he pulled away, the back of her hand.

"I worried so."

With those three words, the shock she had initially felt was replaced by all-too-familiar confusion and guilt.

"Here!" He started back to the porch. "I've brought you a rose. The envelope is kind regards from my mother. She was sad; she made your favorite."

"Her onigiri." Misao whispered.

"Yes! She said we can all come over again tomorrow. Well, she means everyone here. I think they would be a little mad at the station if I stole half their officers for a second evening."

He smiled and held out a hand.

"We can worry about that in the morning though." He continued. "First, you and I need to talk. Will you sit with me, my darling Misao?"

The crickets chorused and a chilly breeze filtered through the garden. Misao hesitated a moment. She fancied that there had been menace in his voice. All the joy she had felt a moment before had fled into the darkness.

Misao Namataga. That was to be her name. Now her soon-to-be husband was beckoning her to take her place beside him. He may as well have been scolding her. She suddenly felt very young and very stupid.

"O-of course."

She went to him and he draped his uniform's jacket over her shoulders. As she reached up to hold it close, Haru put an arm around her and held her close. They sat together outside her room and said nothing for a very long time. That was probably better in the end. The silence gave Misao time to steel herself.


	20. Chapter 20: Greed of the Heart

Sorry for the long wait, as usual :p Honestly I should stop apologizing. It's always a long wait. Not one of my stronger chapters or most thoroughly edited – I may work with it more. If I do, I will give you a heads up as a note before Chapter 21 so you can revisit it!

**Chapter 20**

**Greed of the Heart**

…

Kyoto was quiet that night. Now and again, off in the dark, there came the sound of singing. Water splashing in a well-bucket. A bell tinkling. Cart wheels creaking. A lonely cricket chorusing itself before falling back into silence. The sky was deep, folding into the arms of the mountains, where clouds built and rumbled in discontent. There would be storms before morning. The air was still, as if the whole of Japan was paused, waiting in breathless silence for a tempest to wash upon its shores.

Haru and Misao were wholly unaware of any of it. After stewing for a time, they began to argue. Their voices were soft, but anyone looking might have seen them as two bristling cats moments before a terrible fight.

"Do you really plan on marrying me?"

It was those words that started it. Misao, who had been trying to appear as exhausted as possible, looked up. Her bewilderment was honest. Haru's jacket slipped from her shoulders.

"H-haru?"

"It's a very simple question. I would like a simple answer."

Misao had been expecting it for a while now, but it still came as a shock. She feigned insult, if only to buy more time.

"What would make you ask a question like that? Honestly, Haru."

She was on her feet and pacing before he could grab her and hold her to him. He jerked back, as if she had physically resisted or slapped him.

"It's a perfectly reasonable question to ask, in light of recent events." He only hesitated and moment before getting to his feet as well.

Misao stopped and faced him.

"Haru Namataga, it's perfectly ridiculous."

"What? The question, or the fact that I believed you were telling the truth when you said that you loved me and agreed to marry me?"

She threw her hands up in exasperation "That you're carrying on in this fashion! I wasn't feeling well."

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it. You haven't been yourself since _he_ got back. I wonder that it's even your fault, with how he looks at you."

There was enough venom in his words to leave her properly stung. "Oh! Are we back on this again? I thought we figured this out last night when you came after me in the kitchen."

"You did not answer me and I did not _come after_ you!" Haru thundered. "I pulled you out of the way – oh for goodness sake! It's no use arguing with someone in your state."

"Someone in my state?"

"Misao-chan, that _man_ in there is getting into your head."

"Oh? Is this a new game? Convince Misao she's been tampered with? That there's no possible way she could love another man unless her mind was addled?"

"So you don't deny you love him? I suppose that's really my question. Are you a whore or not?"

Color rose on Misao's cheeks like fire flaring up in dry tinder. She gasped.

"How dare you – "

"How dare _you_, Misao. How dare you carry on this ruse? How can you look me in the eye, this close to our wedding and tell me that you've no doubts? That you haven't already given up? That you don't love someone else?"

"Could you blame me? When you're acting like a beast?"

She had never thought of Haru as a quick man. No doubt he could hold his own in a fight. After all, Aoshi hadn't completely trounced him when they had dueled in the dojo. Blood had been drawn by both. Still, he was certainly no onmitsu. Perhaps that was why he managed to make it across the space between them without her having a chance to react. His eyes glinted as he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. She curled her should in just in time to keep from his grasp completely.

In the end, he held her fast with fingers like coiled wire. When he spoke next, his teeth grazed her ear.

"If you think me a beast now, you're sorely mistaken. Right now I'm being meek as a kitten."

Adrenaline and the smallest measure of fear prickled in her belly. She sucked in a shallow breath.

"Misao-chan, I have been most tolerant these last few days, but even good men have their limits."

"Good men?" She hated herself for the way her voice shook. "You're everything but worthy of being counted among good men right now."

Haru chuckled. His breath was hot against the side of her face. He squeezed her more tightly. It took every ounce of her strength not to cry out. She could feel each of his fingertips leaving its mark.

"Let us speak in other terms. Remember your duty. It's too late to look back now. If you think otherwise, there are some within Aoiya who may be making a trip to the station in future. It will not be a trip made of their own volition."

"Weak men resort to threats."

"It is not a threat. I'm telling you what will happen. Shinomori will be first, my dear. Can't have dangerous men who skulk in allies with swords running about this fine city, now can we? And that bird-headed gentleman? He looks awfully like someone we've been searching for a long time."

Misao swallowed hard. She fought panic and did her best to find words that would adequately express her rage and terror; words that would tell Haru that her friends would never allow such a thing. Himura alone would not allow it! Before she could find them, a door behind them hissed open.

"Is everything all right out here? Misao?"

The night, which had seemed so quiet before, came crashing down around them. Cricket song rose up, thunder grumbled overhead, a police whistle shrieked in the distance. Haru let go of her, but not before planting a kiss on the same ear upon which he had been lavishing his terrible promises. Misao knew well enough that he had a perfectly practiced smile on his face when he turned to face Omasu.

To Omasu's credit, the look of concern did not drain from her face. She inclined her head politely and repeated.

"Is everything all right?"

She tried to meet Misao's gaze. Misao would not let her. She covered the red welts raising on her arm with her other hand.

"Fine!" Haru continued to smile. "Absolutely fine. I was just bidding Misao good night. I shall see both of you in the morning?"

"Of course."

Swiftly as Omasu had emerged, she and Haru exchanged bows. Haru went to the porch and retrieved his coat. He then turned his back on Omasu, fixed Misao with a steely glare, and departed. Upon reaching the gate, he paused and spoke without looking back.

"Omasu? Please see that Misao is looked after tonight. She's very tired, I think."

At this, he let out a laugh that could almost have been mistaken for good-natured.

"Pre-wedding nerves, and all of that."

"Don't fret, Haru. It's been a long day for everyone." Omasu said carefully. "A cup of tea and then it's bed for us all."

"A good plan. Good night."

With that he was gone. Misao felt a wave of nausea. She hesitated and stared downwards resolutely, burning a hole in the ground before her feet. The entire night might have passed, but Omasu spoke again before long.

"Misa – oh!"

For the first time since the older woman had emerged, Misao look up. She met her friend's gaze with eyes dark and face awash in tears.

"Are you alright? Really? Were you two arguing?" Omasu started to step down into the grass. She paused halfway and tilted her head. "M-Misao! What are you wearing?"

That was enough.

"Is that all you can say? What am I wearing? What does it look like I'm wearing? Honestly, Omasu! I've had enough of you! It's a shinobi outfit! I used to wear it all the time, if you remember; when we all fought to protect Aoiya together. I suppose I lost the right to wear it when I became old enough to marry off. Is that it?"

Misao's voice reached a pitch of hysteria. She rushed across the garden and tried to step past her friend with a frantic sob. Omasu reached out to stop her.

"Your arm!"

Misao realized, for the first time, that she was bleeding.

"Leave me be!"

She batted away Omasu's gentle hands and pushed her way inside of the kitchen.

Omasu stared, mouth agape. She brought a hand to her mouth, let it drop to her side and then brought it back up. She called after her.

"Misao!"

From somewhere deep inside the Aoiya, Misao screamed. "Good night!"

A door was pushed shut with such force, it seemed like the whole place might come down. In a garden nearby, a dog barked. Omasu shifted from foot to foot. She patted her hair down, put a palm to her cheek and looked towards where the mountains rose up over the city. Lightning flashed, thunder chased it. The dog quieted and the night returned to normal. Omasu finally retreated inside, shuffling as though she were numbed by sake.

….

Misao had a hard time catching her breath. Safely in her room, she stripped out of her shinobi outfit and crawled into her bed roll. There, she raged and railed into her blanket. Part of her couldn't believe what had just happened. The rest of her felt nothing but black shame, welling up like ink. She couldn't think why she hadn't stopped Haru from hurting her, and just when the shame overwhelmed her with self-loathing, the part of her that didn't believe he could have done it chimed in softly. She and Haru had their disagreements, like any other man and woman, but he had never put a hand on her or threatened to do so. He had also never suggested that he would hurt someone she loved to avenge himself against her.

More than anything, perhaps, she didn't want Aoshi to see the marks Haru had left. There were gashes from his nails and purple welts from his grasp. Her soul understood Aoshi would not blame her – it would be Haru who would suffer the ex-okashira's wrath. Her mind, however, insisted the marks would tell a story of weakness. She had failed to defend herself.

Aoshi was too injured to be worrying about her anyway. Anything that would upset him was unacceptable. He couldn't know what had happened.

She wept until she had worn herself out and the rest of the Aoiya was quiet. Then she dried her tears, slipped on a robe that would cover her arms completely, and went into the hall. She crept past Omasu's room, past the kitchen, and right to Aoshi's room. She didn't even bother knocking.

She found him awake, propped up on pillows. He had been reading, but set the book down immediately. His face remained impassive. After she had shut the door, he spoke.

"Misao? What has happened?"

She did not respond. Instead, she rushed across the room. Careful not to press too hard against his dressed wound, she covered him with herself and fell into his arms. There, she began to weep anew. He tensed for the briefest moment, and then began to smooth her hair with one hand. His other hand found the curved spot at the base of her spine and rested there. He did not ask her anymore questions.

When she had cried herself out a second time, they stayed that way until rain began to patter on the roof of Aoiya. Only then did Aoshi murmur that he needed to shift – his side was beginning to ache. Misao carefully climbed off of him and knelt beside him while he made himself comfortable.

Still, he did not repeat his question. She was thankful for that. Certain that she could speak with shedding anymore tears, she finally whispered his name.

"Aoshi?"

"Yes?"

"Why do people betray?"

"A heavy question for so late at night, don't you think, Misao?"

She rested her forehead in her hands. It nearly broke his heart.

"I think," he spoke again and watched her closely. "No, I know. There are many reasons. Mostly it is fear. They themselves feel cornered and betrayed. When someone betrays, there is no other way out for them. They do what they feel they must to right a world that's been wronged. They act out of revenge, self-righteousness and exhaustion. There is gain involved."

"So it is greed of the heart."

Misao looked at him and searched his eyes for something. If she found it, Aoshi did not know. Regardless, she offered up the ghost of a smile before crawling beside him. There, she fit herself along his uninjured side. Settling in, she drew the blanket up to her chin, straightening it so it covered him as well. Once certain she was satisfied, he pulled her close and place a kiss on the crown of head.

"I have a story of betrayal." He murmured into her hair. "It is terrible, but I will tell you, if you'll allow it."

"Please."

She said that single word with such yearning, it sent heat rushing into his cheeks. He had to clear his throat and gather himself before he began to tell her the rest of what happened in Mecca. He was thankful to have the distraction. With her so close, smelling of cherry blossoms and tea leaves, he was dangerously close to kissing her, the consequences be damned.

…..

The warriors fled across the remains of the encampment, drawn onwards by Chizuru's fading screams. Neither knew what to expect, but Aoshi had an idea. When they finally arrived at the tent, the screaming had ceased. They found Liu outside, unconscious. Abdas stooped to check him.

"Still breathing."

"Good."

Inside the tent, there were signs of vicious assault. Qadi had fled and it seemed that whoever had attacked was gone. Clothes were tattered, bags rifled through, water skins emptied. They found marked signs of struggle. It was under a blanket that they found Chizuru, still warm and staring into forever. In death, it was easier to see how the last months had taken a toll on her health. Without the spark of life, she was gaunt; her features pinched. Abdas muttered a prayer at the sight of her and Aoshi covered her once more. The ex-okashira suddenly felt lost, sick and utterly defeated. He swallowed hard and turned to survey the rest of the damage.

The first concern was the girls: Aiko and Takia. A cursory search revealed no other gruesome discoveries. Interesting though: Botan's things were gone. There was no sign of the other man; it was as though he had never existed. Aoshi wasn't yet sure what that meant, but it only increased his dread.

When the tent offered no further clues about what had transpired in their absence, they dragged Liu inside and propped him up in the corner. Together, Abdas and Aoshi began to search outside. It was around the back of the tent, where a small dune had began to pile up, that they found Takia cowering.

"Uncle Aoshi!" At the sight of him, she was up and running. Aoshi quickly re-sheathed his blade and threw open his arms just in time to catch her.

She immediately knotted herself into a ball of terror and began to wail. Satisfied that they had searched as well as they could, they went back into the tent. Abdas went in first and made sure that Chizuru was well hidden. He found a lantern that had not been overturned or broken. He lit it and set to tidying a space where he could look over Liu, who was just beginning to stir. Aoshi sat with his legs folded under him and soothed Takia with little whispers.

When Liu fully woke, he struggled against Abdas. Takia began to cry anew and it was several minutes before anyone was calmed down enough to find out what had happened.

"It was Botan!" Liu seethed and cradled his aching head in his hands. "He got tired of waiting; he said he was going to find you. When he returned he had the men with him. They went right after Chizuru and Aiko tried to defend her. They must have taken her. I-I don't remember much. Takia ran out and I went after her. I didn't make it far before they hit me. I don't remember. Qadi left quick as a wink when everything started. That I _do_ recall."

"It must have happened fast. We heard the screams and came straight away."

This was from Abdas. Liu looked as though he'd seen a three-headed beast.

"Y-you speak Japanese?"

Abdas smiled, and that alone brightened the tent more than the lantern had. He spread his hands.

"We have many learned men in Morocco. I know Spanish and Persian as well. A little English, when pressed."

"A linguist, a swordsman and a flautist." Aoshi murmured. "What other surprises have you up your sleeves, friend?"

"None of any great worth, I'm afraid. I have no sleeves to hide them in." Abdas stood and began to straighten his scabbard. "We should be getting along, no? I will accompany you. There is nothing for me here, now."

There was a flurry of activity after that. Aoshi gave Takia to Liu, who hid her eyes while the other two men took Chizuru from the tent. They buried her quickly and with little ceremony where the wind and sand might finish the job for them. No tears were shed. When they returned, they found their things had been packed. Abdas went back to his tent and fetched fresh water skins and food. When all was prepared, they met just beyond what was left of the encampment. They counted their blessings that no one else who had stayed behind from the Hajj had come to investigate. Their tent stood lost among others, all scattered like tombstones across the dessert night.

There, on the edge of nothing, night had fallen. The sky was deep and scattered with stars. To the north, Mecca painted the dessert horizon with red light. Abdas said his sunset prayers late and rejoined them. For a while, they looked to the West and discussed what was to be done. The camels had been lost – set loose when the men had come. The tracks they had left, sullied and in many places erased by the wind, made it impossible to tell which direction they should head in pursuit.

"If I were them, I would go to Cairo." Abdas insisted. "It follows what you have told me – they head West from here. Cairo is bustling: an easy place to hide sins and filled with foreigners, night and day."

"It's taking a chance, but that would make sense." Liu agreed. He shifted Takia from one arm to the other. The girl, finally sleeping, stirred but did not wake.

"It will be a long journey, but we can make it to Jeddah from here by sunrise. We can get more camels there." Abdas took a deep breath. "

This plan was agreed upon. Aoshi fell into steely silence and they began to walk. By morning, they were chilly, exhausted and starved nearly to death, but they were indeed in Jeddah. They took a room at an inn and rested for nearly two days. Takia was despondent, despite all of their best efforts. She cried for her mother and slept only fitfully. Abdas was their savior during that time. He made travel arrangements, purchased more supplies, procured a new tent, and met up with a caravan heading back to his home in Oujda. At the end of their second day, they set off.

The trip to Cairo only served to make Aoshi hate the desert more. He found himself longing for trees, full and heavy with leaf and blossom; for water cool, crisp and from anywhere but the sea – ah! The Red Sea – he'd never seen anything so beautiful and terrible all at once. They traveled by way of Aqaba, and he was happy to leave it behind as they crossed Sinai. He was beginning to lose hope when, like a ribbon of green light, the Nile rose up out the sands on the horizon. If it had turned out to be a mirage he might have given up there.

Cairo was jumbled and snaggle-toothed, its narrow lanes and sun-baked houses radiating from the banks of the river. It was both beautiful and brutal, a dusty mouth of cracked teeth, punctuated by the pyramids at its edge. Liu, like Aoshi had only read about those tombs of ancient kings. He prattled on as Abdas found them a place to stay, telling Takia stories of strange gods with the heads of jackals and eagles. As he described Horus, Aoshi stood nearby and thought of the tengu. Takia was enthralled. For the first time in days, she stopped crying and drank up his every word.

They might have stayed in the city for much longer, but the same night as they arrived, a thin sheaf of parchment was brought to them by the owner of the inn that Abdas had found. The innkeeper said it had been slipped beneath his own door; he knew not who had brought it. There was nothing written on it, but three triangles had been drawn in purple ink. A drop of blood in the corner served as a signature.

Much arguing followed its receipt: clearly it meant for them to go to the pyramids. Abdas and Aoshi would go and investigate. Liu wanted to go along – to have come all this way and not see the pyramids up close? It was a crime. Abdas scoffed and informed him that they were not on a sightseeing trip. Liu in turn, was offended that Abdas felt he didn't understand the gravity of the situation. In the end it took Aoshi to break them apart. Someone needed to stay with Takia. If they found Aiko and Raku, they could all go see the pyramids together in the morning. In any case, Liu could hold his own in a fight, but Abdas and Aoshi were doubtlessly the better swordsmen.

Liu was both placated and thoroughly chastised. He agreed to stay behind.

Under cover of darkness, Aoshi and Abdas slipped through the streets and made their way to Giza, arriving at the shadows of the pyramids by midnight. They were met by two men, easily dispatched and hidden beneath scaffolding. It was clear that excavation either was or had been done recently: the area surrounding the pyramids was littered with abandoned and fresh scaffolding. In the dust, the found tools and an old case half buried in sand with the name "Petrie" on a fading tag. They did not have time to linger and explore. They crept as carefully as possible, wary and ready for attack.

Or so they thought, out of the darkness a figure emerged. Abdas was struck from behind and quickly on his feet again. Aoshi whirled and dropped to a crouch. In the dark they heard a laugh. The figure was shadowed by a voice, detached and hard to pinpoint.

"So you think to find him here? When will you learn we are more clever than that? Give up now, Shinomori Aoshi, and we will spare your foreign friend."

"Who goes there?"

"And wouldn't you like to know?"

Somewhere, a child screamed.

"Aiko!?" Aoshi shouted and heard a response somewhere behind him.

"She's safely in the belly of Giza. Or at least on her way down, with Botan."

Aoshi launched forward. The figure danced and wavered, disappeared; a trick of the light. Both he and Abdas spun and turned, looking about wildly, but the figure was gone, as quickly as he had come.

They did not speak after that. The two men raced to find the entrance of the pyramid. It was a maddening quest in the dark. Sweating and feeling his composure fray, Aoshi finally tripped in his frenzy, and landed hard on one knee. He hissed in pain and looked up the height of the largest pyramid. The moon rested on its point, balanced there for an instant as the world turned. When he looked back down, he saw a new, smaller figure emerging from the dust.

Aiko. She was weeping, and cradling something in her arms.

Aoshi and Abdas reached her at the same time. The ex-okashira fell on his knees before her and took her in his arms.

"I bit him." She wailed. "I bit uncle Botan and he hit me."

"Aiko-chan, hush now. Tell me, where is Raku? Where is your father?"

"They have him, Uncle Aoshi; bad men. They have Papa. They hurt him. Oh! They hurt in and took him somewhere else. They took him into the desert."

She handed him what she had been holding – a bloody cloth bundled into a ball. Abdas took it and unrolled it. Inside was a man's finger. Unfurled in full, the cloth revealed a message. One word was written in blood: Malaga. Abdas snarled and threw it into the dark.

There would be no more searching or fighting that night. Vigilant, they fled back into the city.

Liu was waiting at the door with Takia, who immediately fell on her big sister weeping. None of them slept very well that night.

The days to follow were nothing but sorrow, heat and endless walking. They did not linger in Cairo. Aiko was silent and sullen and Takia took after her. Abdas insisted they must carry on. They could go to his home in Oujda, finally get some rest, and make plans from there. So they went, rejoining the caravan they had traveled with as it left the city and moved on towards its final destination of Tangier. By the time they made it to Oujda, they were all gaunt, sun-beaten and sporting dark circles under their eyes (even Aiko and Takia who'd been particular favorites of an ebony-skinned, French-speaking Algerian. The woman had been traveling with her merchant husband, and plied them daily with nuts and dried fruit from her camel's saddlebag).

They properly arrived in the city in the late afternoon. They left the caravan at the edge of town and went to Abdas home, on the Western side of the city. It was a quiet neighborhood, cool in the evening breeze and well-lit by heavy oil-lamps outside the gates of every home. Abdas own house was at the end of long row of large, sprawling estates. Once inside the gate, they crossed a well-tended garden with fountains and blue-tiled walkways. Aoshi had guessed Abdas might be wealthy, but had not realized the extent of his friend's fortune.

Abdas noted their awe. "My family trades in textiles. It is a good business right now. Please, wait here while I go and speak to my wife"

He was gone a long time, when he returned, he was accompanied by a lithe woman whose head was wrapped in a brilliant vermillion scarf. Both she and Abdas' eyes were heavy with sorrow. Still the woman took both the girls in her arms. Her presence was one of warmth and comfort.

"My name is Aisha. I have heard of everything. Please, you are most welcome here."

To Aoshi, she said "Thank you for bringing my husband safely home."

The few days that followed in Morocco were marked by deceptive bliss. They were well-fed and their spirits well-looked after. The girls cried little and Liu began to regain some of his roundness. Only Aoshi kept some of his starved air and grim humor.

It was good. They would need such humor to survive during the long European winter they were about to stumble into.

…..

Misao was not awake for long after Aoshi finished telling his story. She murmured that she wished she could have met Aisha and asked questions about the beautiful tapestries and cloth the women in Morocco wove. She persisted in asking about the strange food and beautiful music there until her speech slowed and her eyes grew heavy. Eventually, she stopped mid-sentence and trailed off into a dream. She fell fully asleep with her mouth pressed against the pulse in his throat.

Aoshi thought to wake her and insist she go back to her own room, but could not bring himself to do it.

At some point during the night, she rolled over and pressed against his wound, causing a sharp, sparkling sort of pain that woke him. It was thundering outside, rain pitter-pattering in the garden. He pulled away and turned carefully. In that moment, he noticed her robe had fallen open, revealing dark, purple marks running down under her right sleeve.

Sleep was impossible after that. He knew who had given them to her, like he knew who had left her eyes puffy and swollen by spent tears. Rage and nausea roiled in his belly. He gently closed her robe and folded her back into his arms.

The rest of the night was spent imagining all of the terrible things he was going to do to Haru Namataga.

…..

Elsewhere in the Aoiya, Himura Kenshin waited until Kaoru's breathing grew deep and Kenji gurgled happily in his sleep. He slipped from room, grabbing his sakabatou from the corner as he went. The first stop he made was at the room that Yahiko and Sano were sharing. For the briefest instant he thought of trying to wake only the brawler. Thinking better of it, he woke them both. There was no need for him to explain. Together, the three of them went out into the night. They made their way through the streets in silence, chased by shadows and flashes of lightning. It did not take them long to reach the river.

Once they had reached the water, Kenshin stopped and crouched low. He looked out over the water and did not speak. A clock somewhere started chiming. Sanosuke and Yahiko exchanged a look.

"Hey, Kenshin? I'm the last one to question ya, but is there a reason – "

Kenshin brought one hand up, fingers curled.

"Sano, this one is thinking."

Yahiko shifted and cleared his throat.

"Kenshin – "

He did not respond.

"Kenshin?"

"In a moment, Yahiko. We are waiting for one more."

"Then wait no longer, Himura."

"Agh! Don't sneak up on a guy!" Sano started.

Saito Hajime stepped from the shadows. The old wolf smirked and leveled his gaze on Kenshin.

"I wasn't sneaking, was I Himura?"

Kenshin stood and turned to face him. He smiled and placed both hands on his back. He arched it, drawing a volley of cracks that make Yahiko wince.

"That you most certainly were not, Saito-dono."

Sano grumbled and glowered.

"You never showed at the police station. That's not like you." Saito pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a match. He flicked it, still burning, into the water.

"This one must apologize. We were all invited to an afternoon meal at the Namataga's."

"I hope it was worth keeping me waiting. I was late to a social engagement. Tokio nearly had my head."

"If it's any consolation." Yahiko interjected with a smirk. "Mrs. Namataga's onigiri were delicious."

Saito let out a puff of smoke and rolled his eyes. "In any case, let us get to the point."

Kenshin stepped forward and rested a hand lazily on the hilt of sword. His eyes were those of a hitokiri. The change in his demeanor was so swift; it would have been enough to strike a god dumb.

"Very well. This one spoke with Aoshi-dono briefly this evening. He says he has warned you that there is to be a robbery in a warehouse along the docks. A group of men plan to steal a very valuable item – a pearl called the Princess of the Adriatic – which is to come in on a ship the night of a certain officer's wedding."

"Indeed he has. He would not tell me the name of the rat in our midst."

"Surely you can already guess. It is Haru Namataga."

Yahiko gasped and Sano's eyes widened. Saito was not similarly affected by the revelation.

"Hmph. It did seem awfully convenient that the boy's wedding just so happened to be the same night as the arrival of the pearl."

The men lapsed into silence. Around them, the world started its arcing path towards dawn. The dark held fast for that moment, embracing them and hiding their meeting. Saito finished his cigarette and put it out beneath the heel of his boot. It was he that spoke first.

"So what do you propose we do about it?"

"Hey, you're the officer of the law, aren't you?" Sano jibed.

Saito looked ready for an acid response. Kenshin cut him off. "This one thinks caution would be best, that it would."

"Haru's father has a good deal of power. I would agree that caution is wise."

"Namataga-dono is not a fool, that he most certainly is not. We must show him his son is. He must not have any doubts who is at fault. For everyone's sake. Including Miss Misao's" Kenshin's eyes flashed. "This one saw Haru harm her tonight."

Anger twisted Sano's face. "Whaddya mean – "

Saito waved one gloved hand, silencing him. "So, we shall wait until the night of wedding."

Sano blustered for a moment and jammed his hands in his pockets. "I don't like the idea of letting someone get away with hurting a lady, even if it is the weasel-girl."

"He won't get away with it, Sano." Yahiko piped up. His voice was like steel. "Not for long anyway."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Indeed he will not." Kenshin nodded once, minding a flash of movement to their left – an alley-cat. "We will stop the robbery while most of the officer's are at the wedding."

"The two men still posted at the warehouse will be witnesses. Provided Shinomori is well enough, I think it will be best to let him exact revenge on the puissant and stop the ceremony."

"Boy, I wouldn't want to be Haru." Yahiko laughed. It was a pure sound, there in the dark. Saito's shoulders tensed. The sound had the opposite effect on Kenshin. He brought a hand to the back of his head and grinned.

"Neither would I, that I would not."

Saito sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was such a dramatic gesture, it drew the attention of the other three back. He offered them a smile – all teeth – and pulled out another cigarette.

"Smells like rain." He mused. "These pleasantries are most entertaining, I must say, but I don't think it's so good to be seen out in the open so close to the scene of the crime. When shall we meet again?"

They discussed it briefly. Sano, Yahiko and Saito were all more than willing to admit they'd rather it be a daytime affair.

"I haven't been out this late since that whole thing with Enishi." Sano griped. "A guys needs his beauty rest.

"Not that it would do you any good, but very well." Saito chuckled.

"The night before the wedding?" Yahiko suggested. "We can all take Aoshi out for drinks? A reunion for old time's sake before everything changes?"

"Hey! Away from the chickies! Good plan, kid." Sano beamed.

"It may not be prudent." Kenshin admonished. Sano deflated. "It would be playing things very close."

"Aw, come on Kenshin."

"There will be questions. It would be most rude not to invite Haru, that it would."

"Easy." Saito puffed on his cigarette. He paused and smoke eked out his nostrils for a half second before he sucked in another deep breath. It made him look devilish.

"Oro?"

Saito smirked and took a moment to fix his gloves. When he had his cigarette pinched firmly between two fingers again, he elaborated. "I'm from another precinct, but I still outrank Haru. Perhaps there will be an incident that night. One which requires his immediate attention at the station."

"Excellent idea, Saito-dono."

"Yeah!" Yahiko pumped a fist.

Saito flicked his second cigarette into the dark. "So it's set then. I trust you can have Shinomori contact any of his men and make sure they are there. This will take concerted effort. If it means anything, I think we should keep Lieutenant Rin in the dark for now. Plausible deniability, and all that. Agreed."

The wolf perked a brow. As if on queue, a crash of thunder rattled the ground and the skies opened. Cool as could be, he produced an umbrella from within his jacket and opened it in one smooth motion. He looked at Kenshin – who was quite suddenly bedraggled and soaked to the skin – and bowed. It was easy to see it took every effort not to laugh.

"Excellent. Have a wonderful night, gentlemen. It's lovely out, after all."

He left them as he had come, disappearing into the night without a sound.


End file.
